Shadows
by DancingWithOceanWaves
Summary: Blake returns to Midsomer to visit the remainder of her small family. But, Midsomer being Midsomer, things just can't be simple. Sequel to "Silence is Cold". Would make much more sense if you read it first."M" for language, violence, and adult themes.
1. Welcome Home

Welcome to part two of "Silence is Cold". Please enjoy.

I do not own Midsomer Murders; I only own the characters I made up.

--

If one looked around, all that could be seen was chaos, turmoil. However, the situation wasn't "if" one looked around, it was "when", and "where". It's a bit difficult to _not _look around while in the heat of battle...always having to watch one's back, and your comrade's. Swarms of "forest camo" uniforms could be seen to the sides and behind a particular English soldier when he looked, making sure he wasn't alone in this earth form of hell. He could hear explosions and shells going off everywhere around him, feel the heat of specially made military rifles being fired very close to his head, and could only watch in horror as men were blown to bits mere feet away from him, their blood spattering on his cheek.

Yes, this had become the life of this soldier, only twenty-three years of age. He'd never be able to say he'd become used to these sights, sounds and smells, even if he'd have to endure it for several more years; no one should have to become used to watching their fellow man being blown away. The young man wanted nothing more than to be back at home, or even his base, where the safety was sure to be better. He wanted to lay and bawl, forget all of the horror that he'd seen and was enduring that very moment for his country, which he loved with an intensity he could not explain. But now wasn't the time for wishing. Now wasn't the time to fall apart and cry. Now was the time to get across this wretched battle field, which stank with the smell of burning flesh, cried with the screams of wounded soldiers, to infiltrate the enemy and finish the mission. If the mission was completed, and completed successfully, the enemy would be forced to retreat where the Allies had an idea of where their base was.

"Forward, men, forward!" Our soldier screamed, his knuckles white as he gripped his semi-automatic. "If we could make it to that trench, we could wait for them to stop shelling. They'll have to reload some time, and that'll be the moment to make our move!"

"We can't belly-crawl that far!" One of his comrades yelled over the explosions. "We'll be slaughtered!"

"We're sitting ducks out here!" Our man yells, now angry. "We'll have to make a run for it, we'd be a lot safer there than here! Wait for my order!"

The young lieutenant's eyes cut across the field, watching, waiting, listening as he continued crawling, the explosions lessening as a few of the large enemy guns had to reload, while others continued firing. Soon the shells exploded just far enough away to miss the small platoon.

"Now!" he shouted, jumping to his feet and helping another as he began to run.

Though the sprint to the trench was short, it was very hazardous. Men and women not only had to watch their backs now, but their feet as well due to the holes and bodies that littered the field, and the vibrations from the explosions. The lieutenant and his comrade were the first to reach the temporary ground shelter, but didn't relax or duck down as they waited for the others. They stood and lended their hands as leverage for their buddies to get down with, not protecting their own selves until the last memeber of the reduced platoon was in the trench.

The young lieutenant walked briskly, hunched over as he overlooked his line of men and women, checking for wounded. He stopped and practically fell before one man, who's crimson blood streaked down his neck from behind his ear. "Medic!" he shouted, turning the man's head to examin the wound. Upon closer inspection he found that the wound wasn't coming from behind the man's ear at all, but _from _his ear. It appeared a bullet had gone through it, narrowly missing a vital area of his head.

"Is my ear gone?" the man asked, his voice surprisingly calm despite the horror going on around him.

The medic came and squat in front of him, just in time to hear the question. "No, you got lucky. Even if it was gone you'd have been lucky it didn't hit you any higher or lower than that."

The lieutenant got up and walked down the line again, this time stopping in front of a woman. He knew she didn't like to be treated any differently from the men, that it made her feel as though they thought she weaker because of her sex, but still, the young lieutenant couldn't help himself, due to his upbringing. "Are you alright?" he'd noticed a wet, bloody spot on her upper left arm, and tried to examine it.

The woman swat his hand away with a nod. "Yours is worse than mine." she winced, pointing to a bloody spot near his right hip.

The lieutenant's brows furrowed, and he looked down at himself, apparently noticing it for the first time. "Couldn't even feel it." he answered. "Must only be a knick."

Usually, he would have smiled at the thought of not feeling any pain due to a wound, but this was no time to smile. The shelling had stopped briefly, and they needed to move. He stood a bit to look over the edge of the trench, noting the sounds of rifles despite the temporary end to the explosions. "Alright," he said clearly, "This is our moment. If we run, we can make it to the bunker. They're going to be ready for a fight, but if any of them surrender, we'll take them prisoner. If any of them refuse to surrender...you know what to do. Am I clear?"

After recieving multiple affirmatives, the young man climbed up out of the trench, assisted another man out, and with both their pairs of hands, helped the rest out. The platoon then proceeded in making an all-out run for it, making it only half-way there before the explosions began again. The lieutenant could only cringe as screams from a different platoon found their way to his ears; they couldn't stop now...they were much too close.

"We need that bomb, now!" he bellowed. The bunker door was mere yards from them now. He came to a skidding halt on the concrete entrance of the bunker, pausing for a moment to yank on the handle of the thick metal door. It was locked. "Damn it! I said we need that bomb!"

The words had barely passed his lips before their explotions expert was before him, pulling the lethal weapon from his pack. Sticking it right in the center of the thick door, he made sure everyone was clear, including himself, of course, before pressing the button to the detonator. Nothing but debris laid where the great door had once been when the job was done, allowing a nice gaping hole for the soldiers to enter. Their rifles at the ready, they made their way down the long, dimly-lit concrete hallway, their bodies tense, ready for anything.

An enemy soldier lept through one of the sturdy doorways, pistol in hand, finger on the trigger, shouting and aiming right for the young lieutenant. The lieutenant only twitched his finger on the trigger, however, eliminating the threat without trouble, and continued on through the door. Several similar events like this occured, sometimes two or three enemy soldiers jumping out, one more intelligent one putting his rifle around the corner instead of his body, as he pulled the trigger. Shooting blindly, though, sent his shots to the walls instead of the Allie soldiers, allowing them to get rid of the problems quickly as they made their way to the big guns.

The lieutenant rushed into the main room, firing his rifle at the ceiling in warning. "On the ground! On the ground now! I want you away from those guns, and any other weapons you have kicked away from you, or I'll shoot!"

Upon seeing the number of platoon memebers, the largely out-numbered enemy ground bombers did as ordered, stepping greatly away from the big guns, and kicking away any weapons on their person before getting down on their knees, their hands behind their heads. The lieutenant smirked victoriously as his platoon members trained their weapons on the prisoners, and began walking about the room, looking for any supplies they could take. However, the young lieutenant wasn't expecting that there'd be an enemy soldier hiding among the boxes of ammunition, and wasn't expecting him to be holding a grenade in his hand. The lieutenant's smirk quickly fell from his lips as horror entered his eyes, and he back peddled as the pin was pulled from the grenade.

--

The military hospital back at Base wasn't as frantic as anyone would think. They actually hadn't had much wounded today, save for a few squad members that had just been brought in.

"We'll start with the worst wounded." A military doctor told his nurses, walking briskly as he sorted out the worst wounded from the least. One particular patient caught his eye, one much more badly wounded than any of the other patients, and frowned. "Why isn't he already on the operating table?! He's bleeding to death! I want a stretcher here pronto, and him in the operating room immediately!"

The Army doctor squat down by the bed quickly, ripping the sheets off of the naked, bleeding, brutally wounded man, and frowned. His right leg was badly stabbed with shrapnel, some of it sticking out, and some of it burrowed deeply into the flesh. He had a knick in his right side, near his hip, that wouldn't be much worry or trouble to repair, but his abdomen and chest were badly littered with fresh, open wounds. The doctor frowned deeper, if possible, and shook his head as the man's body was transferred from the bed to the stretcher, before being carried off to the operating room. His wounds wouldn't be difficult to clog up and repair, but they would leave massive scars, and the man would most likely be shell-shocked or tramatized when he woke.

It was also disappointing for the doctor because the man was so young, hansom, and most likely had a young wife or girlfriend back home, waiting for him. Not that the doctor was homosexual in any way, but he could tell a handsom face from a not-so handsom face. He donned his white coat and elastic gloves as he reached for his tools, opting to start on the shrapnel in the man's leg while another doctors cleaned and tended to the wounds on his chest. He glanced at the handsom man's face, noting the ink-black hair, intelligent looking eyebrows set just right over closed eyes, the well-shaped nose and lips, and strong jaw. "Does our patient have a name?" he asked, removing the first piece of shrapnel.

A nurse furrowed her brows thoughtfully as she turned to the dog tags that had just recently been removed from the victim's neck, and read aloud, "Jerry M. Williamson."

--

I couldn't help but notice that the closer I got to Midsomer, the whiter my knuckles became on the steering wheel. It had been five years since I'd been here...in this dangerous place that I used to call home. I was being bombarded with memories that I thought I'd forgotten, or wished to have. Of course, it was nothing that I hadn't expected.

It didn't appear that Midsomer had changed much, as was also expected, which was good and bad. It made me wonder if any of the people had changed...or the danger. Better or worse? I'd have to see. I also began to wonder what people would think of seeing me for the first time since I'd left. No doubt there would be some gossip going on, but hey, it _was_ Midsomer, after all.

"Mummy?"

I shook my head and smiled softly at the small voice, and looked in the rear-view mirror into the striking blue eyes that stared curiously at me. "Yes, sweetheart?"

"Mummy, what's the matter?"

I furrowed my brows, but didn't allow the soft smile to leave my lips. "What makes you think something's the matter?"

"You look like you're trying to hurt the steering wheel, and you had your eyebrows pulled close. You do that a lot when something's the matter." he said worriedly.

I raised my eyebrows up, impressed. My son had inherited quite a few of my traits, which included extreme observence...especially for a five year old. This also was a good and bad fact to me, seeing as how many people were both impressed and worried by it. "I was just thinking about the last time I was here, baby. Nothing's the matter."

"What happened the last time you were here, Mummy?"

With his observence also came a large amount of inquisitiveness. But really, what five year old isn't inquisitive? I sighed as my eyes flicked to the road, and then back to the rear view mirror. "A lot of things, darling; I'll tell you some other time. Look, we're here!"

Ben's house hadn't changed a bit. The front lawn was still lush, and green, and from what I could tell through the fence, so was the back lawn. Two cars occupied the driveway as usual, with the addition of one more when I put the car into park. Quickly unbuckling myself, I made my way out of the car and to the backseat, where I unbuckled my son from his car seat and hoisted him up onto my hip. He smiled handsomly and stretched his little legs before wrapping them around my waist, and then placed one hand over my shoulder while his other latched onto the open collar of my purple blouse.

I was only part-way up the concrete walk-way when Ben came out of the house, grinning, his arms open wide to hug us for the first time in a year(the last time being when he'd come to my college graduation). I eased Toby to his feet carefully before I was pulled into a tight embrace, my body squished against Ben's body, my face painfully pressed to his neck. "You're here...You're actually here!" he said happily, as though trying to convince himself.

I chuckled, and with a slight struggle freed my arms from between our bodies to embrace him back. "Dad! I'm happy to see you! You've barely changed at all."

True at that. Five years hadn't done too much to Ben's looks. He did look a bit older, yes, but not badly. His brown hair was a lighter shade, and there were a few more lines in his cheeks when he smiled, but he looked great otherwise. His strength was certainly still in tact, too.

"I've missed you." he murmured, acting like he wasn't going to let up on his hold.

"I've missed you too," I smiled, "But, you're choking me."

Ben didn't let me go until he gave me one last squeeze, and then cupped my cheek once my feet were back on the ground. "You've grown up." he murmured warmly, his thumb beginning to stroke my temple. "You're not that teenager I sent to college anymore."

I affectionately covered his hand with my own, practically beaming at him. "I'm not the only one that's done some growing." Effortlessly, I lifted my son up into my arms, stroking his blonde locks out of his eyes. "Toby," I said softly, "Remember Papa?" Toby had been four years old the last time he'd seen Ben...he should remember him. Who knows? What do four year olds think of other than toys, sand boxes, and their mummies?

Toby held Ben's gaze only for a few short moments, before burying his face my neck.

Ben chuckled as I did, and reached out to pat his back while I stroked his hair. "Don't be shy, baby." I murmured against his forehead, "Say hello to your grandfather."

It took a bit more coaxing than that, but eventually I got him to look up, his brilliant blue eyes shyly looking into Ben's brown ones, while he lifted his little hand and moved his fingers in a little wave, before hiding his face in my neck again.

"He'll warm up to you." I sighed, "He got the shy trait from me."

Ben only smiled, gave Toby one last pat on the back, and walked to the trunk of my car. "So, how have you been?" he asked casually, grabbing my luggage, and Toby's. "Do you like living near campus?"

"Yeah," I nodded. "But...I don't know...it gets tiring after a bit. A majority of college kids there don't drive as safely as I'd like. I usually try to stay off the road and walk wherever we need to go; besides that, it keeps us fit."

"Good, good." he nodded. "Nothing wrong with a little break...especially when you come to stay with your old man."

I rolled my eyes. "I've told you, forty-two is not old. What does Jess think when you say things like that?"

He laughed as we slowly made it up the walk-way. "She says the same thing you do. Remember that she's only forty, though."

"Is Jess here?"

"She's at work; same job and everything." he gave me a side-glance once we reached the door. "She's got a nice dinner planned out for you...but, judging by how late she'll have to work tonight," he said, glancing down at his watch, "We'll most likely be eating out, and the bill will be taken care of by me...as usual."

I began to chuckle at the irony of it all; that's how it usually ended up happening at my flat near the campus. I'd come home, tired from work, pay the babysitter, and then end up walking to the nice little café located in the campus book store. The only difference was that it was me and my son alone, and me alone paying the bill. Now, that chuckle that I'd begun to lose? It immediately lodged in my throat when the front door opened. I hadn't set foot in the house for five years, but absolutely everything was the same, and that "Welcome Home" sign from when I'd been released from the hospital was hanging up in the kitchen. Oh...the memories began making my chest hurt. That day that I'd been released...the few days after and the argument that happened between me and...

No. I wasn't going to allow myself to fall weak in front of my dad and son. I'd come for an enjoyable holiday, and I wasn't going to turn into that fragile teenager again. I looked around and smiled, then looked down at Toby, who was looking around with that same curious look on his face that I'd had the first time I was in Ben's home. "What do you think?" I asked him, placing a kiss on one of his temples.

"It's bigger than our flat." he cooed, as though it were the most amazing thing in the world.

I chuckled as well as Ben, and he eased one of the suitcases down to pat Toby on the head. "Let him explore, get used to the place; he can't hurt anything."

"You'd be surprised." I quipped, setting my little lad on his feet.

Like a shot, Toby was running through the house, looking in every room in the house, crawling between pieces of furniture, and so on. He stopped once, which was in front of the glass door that led to the back yard from the kitchen, and seemed glued. "They have a giant dog, Mummy!" he squealed. "And a little one, too!"

"You got dogs? When did you get dogs? What kind?"

Ben's feet shuffled a bit, and he seemed a bit reluctant to look me in the eyes as he set our luggage down. "I...got a dog when you left, because it was too quiet, and, even though I had Jess with me, I was lonely. I came home one day aaaaand," he shrugged his shoulders, "There was a dog here. Two of them, actually. Jess is very tender hearted toward puppies, you see. She got the one for me, and then saw the other, and..."

I furrowed my brows playfully at him. "What kind of dogs? Wait, let me guess. You look like a German Shephard or, a Labradore person."

He chuckled. "Not quite. Come here, I'll show you."

I picked Toby up and held him on my hip again, not knowing how big the dogs were or how gentle they would be to a small child. Ben opened the door once Toby was out of the way, and closed it again behind us once we were out on the back patio. Almost immediately, a large, black and white spotted Great Dane stood up on its hind legs and placed its paws on Ben's shoulders. Another dog, a small Corgi, yapped and nipped playfully at Ben's feet. I felt my eyes become wide and round. The dane was nearly as tall as Ben on its hind legs! It looked like it could eat Toby for a snack!

"This," he laughed, pointing to the dane, "Is Remmy, and this," he stooped to pick up the little corgi, "Is Lady."

I quirked a brow. "So...Remmy is the dog that Jess got for you?"

"No. Lady is the dog Jess got for me. She bought Remmy for herself."

I started to laugh, thinking he was joking, until I saw the look on his face as he talked to and scratched the little corgi. A gigantic dog for a very slim, curvy woman, and a little dog for a semi-muscular police officer. Yep. One happy family.

"You can put him down, you know." Ben nodded as he motioned to Toby, who was squirming slightly in my arms. "They're very gentle with children; sometimes the neighbors bring their kids over to play with them."

I looked at Toby reluctantly, then to the gigantic dane, and then back to Toby. "Do you...want to play with the dogs, Toby?"

Toby's eyes widened, and he grinned. "Yes! Put me down, Mummy!"

I did so slowly, and actually followed him as he approached Remmy. I kid you not when I say he looked like a chew toy compared to the enormous dog. I stood and watched, my eyes trained on the both of them like a hawk. It seemed Remmy was a gentle giant as Ben had said, for he laid down in the grass and deliberately allowed Toby to climb atop his back and sit there while he scratched that hard-to-reach-place behind his ears. While Remmy was enjoying his bit of attention, Lady decided that she'd been rather left out, and pranced up to the two and placed her front paws on the dane's shoulder, who didn't seem to mind a bit. Upon noticing Lady, Toby crawled off of the dane and took off at a flat-out run, laughing and giggling as the the little corgi chased him down, while the dane continued to lay in the grass and watch.

I couldn't help the smile that graced my lips. It may have been a dangerous place when I'd lived there five years ago, and it may hold a few painful memories, but it was home. There was just something about the way my son was enjoying himself, the way his laughter floated up to my ears as I watched, that just felt right. Maybe I should have raised him in Midsomer after all.

Ben draped his arm around my shoulders, and watched Toby play with the dogs before bringing his happy gaze to meet mine. "So?"

I nodded, smiling. "Yeah, I don't mind staying for a bit; it's nice to get out of that cramped little flat, and out into the country."

With a satisfied expression, Ben pulled me closer, and looked back out at Toby. "Welcome home."


	2. Haunting Memories

I do not own Midsomer Murders; I only own the characters that I made up.

--

_"Get down! Get down! Forget the prisoners! Get out of the way!" _

_How the hell could such a largely-built man hide behind such lowly-stacked boxes of ammo, without anyone noticing them? Why wasn't I able to move back fast enough or far enough? I could feel the rough edges of shock, shame, and disappointmen cutting away at my skin as my control over the situation slipped brutally through my fingers, causing me, and everything around me, it seemed, to move in the slowest of slow motion. I turned to look behind me, make sure I wouldn't trip over anything, only to freeze in horror when some of the enemy soldiers dove for their guns, firing relentlessly on my squad members. I'd lost complete control, allowed people to die because I'd been too cocky in thinking I'd achieved the mission, instead of being more thourough in searching for more enemy soldiers. _

_I turned and shot vainly at the man that held the grenade, but it was too late. He threw the grenade just as my bullets penetrated his body, sending him to the concrete floor in a bloody heap. I watched, remorsefully, as the small explosive landed and rolled to the feet of one of my men, his terror-filled eyes burning into my memory before it exploded, splattering his blood on the front of my uniform, throat, and face, causing me to flinch as my eyes glassed over. I felt my body fling through the air, along with the body-parts of both Allie and enemy soldiers, before I hit the wall with a "crack", and then slid down to the floor. I was surprised that in those few seconds I able to think with panic that I was too young to die, that I saw my father, mother, and siblings through the years as different memories bombarded me. It was as though there was a screen shielding my eyes, and I watched myself as I grew, from little boy to grown man, from Marine recruit to Lieutenant, to the young man dying honorably as he tried to save his comrades. My eyes closed as I flopped to the floor, and then I knew I was dead._

I gasped when more blood splashed in my face. Had there been a second explosion? Had another man or woman died due to my carelessness? There was something strange, though. Why was this blood so cold, and icy? So far, the blood that had been flung upon me had been warm, and had seemingly burned my skin upon impact. Why was it so cold to my skin this time? Why was it cold, period? My body felt as though it had been dunked in ocean water over-flowing with iceburgs, then laid out on an iceburg itself, as though someone were trying to preserve my body. Is that what was happening? Did someone think that I was so far-gone they may as well freeze me to death as they prepared my grave?

"Sir! It's alright! Stop thrashing, you're safe!"

Who was speaking to me? Who _could _be speaking to me in the middle of dead bodies, and a group enemy soldiers? I opened my eyes only to clamp them shut again, the light being too much for them. "No we're not!" I shouted back, "We're surrounded!"

"More water, Charlie! He hasn't come out of it yet!" A female voice called.

Come out of what? Was I in something? A freezer, perhaps, judging by how cold it was? I began screaming, and flung my hands in blind punches, trying to do anything to let them know I was still alive. "What are you doing?! I'm not dead! We will be, though, if you won't get out of here!" More blood splashed in my face, effectively causing me to stop screaming and thrashing, and making me open my eyes despite the lights that shined too brightly in them. The first thing I could see through my blurred vision was a man; a man with brown hair and green eyes. "Daddy?" I murmured. Daddy? I hadn't called my father "daddy" since I was eight.

"I'm afraid not, lad." The man answered. "Doctor Charles Bronze at your service."

I blinked and squinted, trying harder to focus on the figure, only to realize there were two other men, and one woman surrounding me. None of them were my father, and the woman wasn't my mother, causing my hope to sink. Though I was a man, twenty-three years of age, I'd wanted to be held like I had been when I was eight, the warmth and comfort of my parent's arms being all the protection I wanted. I swallowed hard, my throat feeling very much parched, and whispered, "Doctor?"

Bronze nodded with a light smile, very slightly loosening his hold on my upper arm. "That's right. Doctor Bronze, along with Doctor Cannon, Doctor Bird, and Doctor Keys. We saved your life."

The blurriness had faded from my eyes by this time, and I was finally able to look around. I was in what seemed to be a military base hospital, with thick, white-painted concrete walls, no windows, and beds lined up evenly in two rows, each holding patients decorated in different degrees of wounds. I shivered, which brought my attention to see what I was wearing, only to find that it was nothing. I looked up at the woman doctor, then back to myself, before slowly lifting my weak arms to allow my hands to rest on the "man" part of myself, effectively hiding it from anyone looking.

The doctor chuckled as she leaned over to the foot of my bed, and grabbed the folded blanket that rested beneath my feet. "Yep. If he's strong enough to care that he's exposed, he's okay. Don't worry, lad, it's nothing I haven't seen before. Are you feeling any pain, honey?"

I allowed my hands to fall to my sides once the blanket was pulled to my shoulders, then stared blankly at the woman for a moment. "My leg feels like it's on fire." I was surprised at how calm I was, despite the pain I was in. "I...I'm hurting all over...but my leg..." I winced.

Bronze shared a glance with the female, Doctor Bird, and left the room with purpous in his walk.

I glanced back to Bird with a sinking feeling in my chest. "What...happened to the rest of my squad?"

Bird knit her brows sympathetically, and pat the top of my blanket-covered hand. "They couldn't get them to us in time. We were only able to save you and one of the women; the rest either couldn't be found, or died from excessive blood loss on the way here. I'm sorry." she murmured.

I felt my eyes glass over as I stated bitterly, "No, you can't even begin to be sorry." I glared up into her eyes as doctors Cannon and Keys gripped my upper arms, expecting a fight. "They were fine men and women, and they're dead because I didn't shoot the man with the grenade fast enough! I was too shocked and scared for my own life to do anything but back pedal!"

Bird only nodded, allowing her hand to rest atop my trembling one. "It's reasonable to be scared for your life-"

"Which is why they're dead!" I cried. "I should have reacted faster...and maybe they'd be in here with me."

Bird sighed, and glanced up when Bronze returned, a hypodermic needle in his hand.

I felt my eyes become wide, and I began to flail again. "No! I'm not going back to sleep! I'm not having that nightmare again!" The tears were cascading down my face, marking it as the first time that Jerry M. Williamson cried in front of someone that wasn't a family member. "Please! Please, don't!"

The blanket was removed, exposing my naked body again, and the needle was inserted in my hip. I continued to scream and struggle until my attempts grew weaker, my cries and vision faded, and everything was surrounded in darkness.

--

"Would you just sit still? I could get finished a whole lot quicker if you'd just quit squirming!"

Bath time was usually a struggle, which is expected with a high-energy five year old boy, but this...this was a wrestling match! Toby was covered from head to toe in dirt, grass, and dog hair, because he'd decided it would be fun to roll around the back yard with the dogs. This extra, more than usual layer of filth(other usual filth usually being from the sand box behind our flat) was causing me to scrub harder than I usually had to, causing Toby to squirm and whine a lot more than he usually did during bath time.

"But you're hurting me!" he whined.

"I'm not hurting you." I grumbled, "I'm just scrubbing, and if you hadn't decided to act like an animal, bath time would have been over by now."

"But it was fun!" he laughed. "It was more fun than the sand box! You've never let me play with dogs before!"

"Because they're dirty, and you'd most likely end up like this every night." I sighed, wiping a wet strand of hair from my eyes.

"My dogs aren't dirty." Ben said from the doorway, before his playful glare turned to amusement. "So, who's bathing who?"

I allowed another sigh as I wiped my hair back, and then took my wet, soapy skin and blouse into account, before Toby placed a suds-covered hand on the top of my head. "I guess both of us are." Then with my more motherly-tone, added, "Part of this is your fault! You could have said _something _to him, you know. He's a boy, not a dog. Boys aren't supposed to roll around in the grass."

Ben only chuckled as he played with the gold ring on his left ring finger, which marked him a married man. "He was just having fun."

"I like what he said." Toby piped up quietly.

"Stay out of this, sweetheart." I murmured softly, reaching down to pull the plug in the tub. I looked back to Ben, sending a glare that had been similar to his only moments ago.

Ben, still smiling, held his hands up defensively as he leaned against the door-frame. "Alright, alright! I'll say something next time."

With one more "motherly" glare, I lifted Toby from the tub, and wrapped him in the tan towel that I'd set to the side earlier.

"Uhm," Ben started, shuffling his feet, "Jess is bringing take-out for dinner."

I glanced up at him while I began drying Toby's hair. "That's fine, Toby and I eat take-out all the time."

"Mike and Cora Williamson would like to come over and see you," he said, a little more reluctant.

I stopped my light fussing to fully look up at Ben, causing Toby to stare at me. "Alright." I murmured.

"Can you handle that?" Ben asked, his tone lightly concerned.

I began stroking the side of Toby's face with the towel, before moving down to his neck, and then his shoulders. "Yeah, I can handle it."

"They're bringing their little girl, Amber. You know she's Toby's age now?" Kneeling down, he grabbed one of the corners of the towel, and began drying Toby's arms and back. "Well, a year older, but you know what I mean."

I chuckled with disbelief, drying Toby's chest and belly as I did so. "Little baby Amber? She's six years old?"

"Yeah," he smiled. "Quite mature for six. You'll see."

"Hear that?" I asked Toby. "You have a new friend coming over!"

"She can't be a new friend, mummy." he said quietly.

Again, I stopped my light fussing to be able to look both him and Ben fully in the face. "Why do you say that? I'm sure you'll get along fine."

"I didn't mean that, Mummy. I meant, how can she be a new friend, if I don't have friends to begin with?"

"Toby," I sighed, stroking his damp hair back. "She sounds like a nice girl, I'm sure you'll do fine."

"I don't know, Mummy. Nobody at the playground likes me." he mumbled, looking down at his feet with a shiver.

Noting the shiver that passed down his little spine, I wrapped the towel around Toby, and then my arms, holding him close to me as I stood. "Let's get you dressed, hm? We want you looking presentable for dinner. Just sit here on the bed, and I'll go get your suitcase."

"What was that about?"

I offered Ben a light glance as we walked down the hallway, to the front door where our luggage had been left. "Remember when I told you he's shy?"

"Mhm."

"Well, he's extremely shy; nearly as bad as I used to be. Kids will approach him in the sandbox, but he'll be too scared to really communicate with them." I sighed as I grabbed mine and Toby's suitcases. "I'm afraid part of that is my fault. I used to keep him in the flat a lot when he was younger. I'm the only one he's really open with. What's Amber like? Maybe he'll get along okay with her since she's a girl...he's always been more comfortable with females...since he lives with one."

"Well," he thought out loud, "She's very friendly, and well-behaved. She can be quite a chatter-box sometimes. She'll get him talking one way or the other; she has Mike's personality."

I smiled. They should get along just fine, then. "Toby," I said as we entered the room, "Stand up, sweetheart, I have your clothing."

"Why don't you let me take care of him for a while?" Ben asked. "You need to clean yourself up, too. We'll be alright here."

I looked down just in time to see Toby cast me a worried look. "You'll be fine, sweetheart. Besides, mummy needs to get ready. Why don't you get to know your Papa Ben a bit better, hm?"

"Ooooookaaaaaay." he mumbled.

"Be good for your Papa Ben, Toby." I said a bit more sternly.

"Yes, Mummy." he said, again in a mumble.

"It won't be any trouble." Ben smiled. "Go on. Fix yourself up."

With a smile I stood on my toes, placing a kiss on Ben's cheek before I picked up my suitcase. "Thank you."

--

"Mummy, why are you so nervous?"

"Why do you think I'm nervous?"

The truth was, I couldn't stop staring at myself in the mirror, tugging at my sapphire-blue blouse, black dress pants, my hair...anything that could be tugged at, really. Ben had said Mike and Cora were coming, and were bringing their little girl, and hadn't mentioned anything about Jerry. Anyways, would Jerry even care about me anymore? Did I still care about Jerry anymore?

"I've told you, Mummy, you pull your eye brows close together, and you either look like you're trying to hurt the stearing wheel, or you play with things, like you're doing now. Why have you been acting different since we've gotten here?" he asked, his tone a bit angry in the last sentence.

I turned around to take in Toby's neatly combed hair, his brownish-colored eye brows, which were pulled close in frustration, his angered blue eyes, his little frown, and then his arms, which were crossed atop his chest. "Has mummy been acting strange since we got to Midsomer?" I knelt down to straighten his red button-down dress shirt, and then tugged at his blue jeans before checking the laces to his black leather shoes.

"Yes, you've been acting _really _different since we came here. You haven't talked to me as much, and...and...you won't stop tugging at things, and...I don't like it when you do that!" he stomped his little foot.

I took a moment to take in how angry he was getting, before sighing and stroking the side of his face. Toby only grumbled and shoved my hand away, crossing his arms again. "Don't be this way." I murmured.

"Then _you _stop being _that _way!" he whined.

I sighed. "I'm sorry! A lot happened to mummy the last time I was here...I guess I'm just scared that some of it might happen again, and it's causing me to act this way."

"What _happened, _Mummy?" his little hands found their way to my shoulders, and rested there as his eyes stared intently into mine. "Was it bad?" he asked quietly.

A more patient sigh passed my lips, and my own hands found the sides of his torso, and rubbed lightly up and down. "Yes, baby, a few bad things happened to mummy. I guess mummy is just a little scared, and nervous."

"Please don't be scared, Mummy," his tone remained quiet, "I won't let anything happen to you. You said I'm your big boy, remember? Big boys don't let anything happen to their mummies."

Toby's little speech made tears sting my eyes, forcing me to blink rapidly a few times so I wouldn't cry. "Yes, baby, I remember." I smiled, hugging him to me. "You're a good boy, Toby."

"Sorry to interrupt the beautiful family moment," Ben smiled from the doorway, "But Jess and our guests are here, and the food."

Toby's eyes lit up as he pulled away from me. "Food!"

--

_"Deep breaths." _I kept telling myself. _"Stay calm, they're good friends, they'll be happy to see you." _I followed Ben nervously to the front door, one hand holding onto Toby's, the other tugging at my blouse.

"Darling!" I heard Ben say as I came around the corner, just in time to catch him placing a kiss on Jess's lips.

Five years hadn't changed Jess's looks much at all. Her hair was still the same shade of caramel, where as Ben's had lightened up a shade. She, too, had a few more lines in her cheeks when she smiled, but that was about it.

Cora still looked lovely, her hair still the same, her features only a tad bit aged. She smiled as she hung onto her husband's arm, clearly enjoying herself and the atmosphere.

Mike, like his son, was still breath-takingly handsom, despite five years of aging. His chocolate-colored hair had lightened several shades to a sort of hazelnut color, which I guessed to be from the stress that comes with being a uniformed police officer. The crows feet at the corners of his eyes were just a tad bit more prominant when he smiled as he watched Jess and Ben, and he seemed slimmer. Perhaps it was due to his navy-colored uniform?

What caught my attention the most about Mike, though, was the small hand that his large one enveloped. Following the arm that was connected to said hand, I found a little girl that seemed to be the definition of beautiful...for a six year old, anyway. Her hair was the same shade that Mike's had been five years prior, that rich, chocolatey color. Her eyes appeared to be emeralds, just like her father's and brother's, and her skin was creamy, with a light shade of golden-tan due to being in the sun. Her eyes roamed the house-hold while her parents embraced and greeted Ben, before coming to a rest on Toby. She watched Toby for a few seconds, before she released Mike's hand so she could hide behind his legs, Toby doing the same behind mine.

Mike glanced down at the sudden releasing of his hand and the gripping of one of his legs, before finally noticing me when he was searching for what she was hiding from. "Good Lord..." he smiled. "Blake? Is that really you?" he smiled.

I blushed as I came to a stop at Ben's left side, and nodded. "Indeed."

"You've grown!" he laughed. "You're not a scrawny teenager anymore! Come here, darling, let me hold you."

Mike's arms, like Ben's, were still as strong as ever, and warm and comforting as he squeezed me against him. I found myself laughing as I embraced him back, holding on for dear life as my feet lifted from the floor. "Missed you, too." I wheezed.

"Darling, put her down." Cora chuckled. "I think she's having breathing difficulties."

After an exaggerated, roughly-pressed kiss to the cheek, I was passed to Cora, who was much less vigorous in her use of strength in greeting me with her hug. "Welcome home." she said quietly, also pressing a kiss to my cheek. "How'v you been?"

"Alright." I smiled.

"What brought you back? Did you need a break from online classes?"

"No." I laughed. "I stopped taking online classes and started going to a real college, and then graduated from there. London is what I need a break from. I love it there, it's just...busy, all the time, fast paced. I just need to slow down for a bit."

"Nothing like a break to calm the nerves, aye?"

I turned to find Jess standing right beside me, and after a lingering, warm embrace, she pointed to the table. "Take-out dinner is ready, if anyone's hungry."

"Very." I nodded. "Toby, why don't you-"

I stopped in mid-sentence upon looking down at my little lad, finding both him and little Amber staring wide-eyed at each other.

"To-by?"

They still didn't move.

"Toby." I prompted.

Toby blinked, as did Amber, before the two split away, Toby going behind my legs, Amber going behind Mike's legs.

"What was that all about?" I whispered as I carried Toby to the table.

"She's preeeeety, Mummy." he cooed.

--

"So, what exactly have you been doing since you graduated?"

I blinked slowly as I tried to register the question, the two and a half glasses of wine having made everything a bit fuzzy, and myself a bit light-headed. "Uhm...j-just little odd jobs." I murmured, looking in Cora's direction. "I've worked in a nursery, and did a bit of work at one of the many libraries in down town London. I stayed with those types of jobs for a bit, before I decided to work in a historic museaum; my major is in history, after all." I sent a smile in Mike's and Cora's directions, and asked, "What have you been doing all this time?"

Mike chuckled. "The same stuff. I've stuck with my police work, and my dear wife, here, is still nursing the citizens of Midsomer back to health."

Cora rolled her eyes. "I find out what's wrong with them and prescribe medication. I don't "nurse" them back to health."

"Close enough." he said with a shrug. "Like you, April went off to college, and is currently going to medical school. Our little Daniel has decided he wants to be a football star, and couldn't come to dinner because he's worn himself out with multiple practices. He's only ten, and this football dream will most likely blow over, but you never know; he hasn't been this infatuated with something in a while. Jerry," he started a bit softer, "Jerry...has..."

Cora squeezed her husband's shoulder before taking his hand, before looking at me with a grim expression. "Jerry joined the Royal Marines, and...has been sent over seas. He's not allowed to tell us where he is, but, we think it's one of the more dangerous areas; we're quite concerned about him."

"The Royal Marines?" I asked, my tone laced with confusion. "When did he join the Royal Marines?"

"A few years ago, when he turned eighteen." Mike answered, brows furrowed. "Didn't you recieve his letter? He told you in it that he was going to join...or at least, he told us he mentioned it in that letter."

Great. I'd screwed up again. If I had only read that letter..."No," I murmured. "I didn't recieve that letter." My stomach twisted; gosh I hated lying to my favorite people.

Though no one else caught it, I noticed the disapproving glance I recieved from Ben, and immediately shrank back against my chair.

"That's odd." Mike said to himself. "He told you everything in that letter. I guess it got lost somewhere along its journey to you."

"Guess so." I agreed.

Again, I was the only one that noticed the disappointed expressions I was recieving from Ben. I could tell he was going to have a long talk with me after dinner, and some how, I knew this trip wasn't going to be as relaxing as I thought it would be.


	3. A Bit Too Much?

I do not own Midsomer Murders; I only own the characters I made up.

--

No one could say that I'd become used to walking the perimeter of the small patient room, but no one could say that I was really foreign to it, either. I usually tried to focus on the 672 ceiling tiles rather than the sounds of the moaning, pain-filled cries of the patients either already in the patient room, or freshly into the operating room. The cries from the next room over couldn't usually be heard through the thick, concrete walls and metal door, but the sounds of far-off explosions could be, through the thick, windowless concrete.

Whenever I wasn't focusing on the 672 ceiling tiles, I was focusing on the gray color of the hard floor that chilled my bare feet as I walked. I would try to not glance up and look any of the other patients in the eye, which usually only brought me _more _depression than I already had, seeing the the either blank, agonized, or angered emotions in their eyes.

"You, there."

My brows pulled close together as I looked about, wondering if it was me someone was addressing, or a doctor. The nearest doctor, however, was clear at the other end of the room, and the nearest walking patient was far behind me.

"Yeah, I'm talking to you, handsom; I'm over here, to your left."

To my left was a woman with sand-brown hair, deep brown, nearly black eyes, and all but her eyes, the end of her nose, and lips were covered in bandages. Her entire body, actually, seemed to be covered in bandages, with the exception of her right arm and left leg, which had casts on them. She literally looked like a mummy, with every inch of her long, naked body covered in the cloth bandages, the only difference being she didn't look or smell like rotten corpse. She smiled at me, a bright smile which seemed very out of place in the depressing hospital(and on her as well, seeing what her condition was), and with her left hand, weakly motioned for me to come closer with her bandaged fingers. "You're Williamson." she stated cheerfully.

My brows furrowed more, and as I limped to her, I couldn't help but find myself becoming more intrigued. She seemed much too cheerful for this place, but I wasn't going to be the one to smother her spirits. "That's me." I answered quietly. "Jerry Williamson. How do you know my name?" I asked her as I sat on the foot of her bed, allowing my fractured left wrist to rest on my thigh.

"Couldn't feel it." she smiled. "Must only be a knick. Sound familiar? You said that to me while we were in the trench...just before we went into the bunker."

I stared at her for a moment, picking my brain. The words sounded very familiar, but it felt like ages ago since I'd said them... "Eliza?!"

She chuckled again, and nodded. "In the flesh. Well...what's left of it."

"Lord..." I whispered. "Wh-...What happened to you, Elz?"

"The same thing that happened to you," she said, a bit less cheerfully, "Grenade. Except...I got much worse than you. Nearly every bone in my body is broken, and I even got burned a bit from the explosion. I...I don't have long to live; the doctors think I'll succumb to my wounds in a short matter of time."

I swallowed hard and looked down at my fractured wrist(which didn't seem to hurt as badly before I'd sat to talk to Eliza), unable to look her in the eyes anymore as chills traveled down my naked torso. "I'm so sorry." I whispered, tugging at my dark blue boxers. "I should've shot that man faster...and then maybe we wouldn't be in this situation."

"Look at me, Jerry," she didn't continue until I did, "You wouldn't have been able to react fast enough even if you tried. All of us were scared down there; I don't blame you for running, and I don't blame you for my condition."

My brows creased in a mixture of shock and anguish as I gazed down at what I could see of her face, and shook my head. "But...I allowed this! I feel so responsible for the deaths of those fine men and women, and-"

"Don't." she interrupted. "It wasn't your fault. I saw the entire situation; rest assured it wasn't your fault, because all of us were shocked, and scared, like I told you just a moment ago. Now then," she smiled, "Why don't you ease my mind, tell me about yourself? I thought I heard you screaming about a nightmare a few days ago? I could hear you crying."

My eyes closed for a few seconds as I tried to shake off the feeling of guilt. "Yeah," I nodded. "It was about what happened in the bunker." I couldn't help but snort softly at myself. "I haven't cried like that since...I was a teenager. I don't think I've ever wanted my parents more than I did at that moment. It was odd, really. I've always been close to my father, and my step-mother, but..." I trailed off, not really knowing what else to say about the matter.

"I've been feeling that way, too." she said softly. "Not to rub it in, but...I'll get to see them in a week; they're sending me home with an honorable discharge so I can...you know...die at home, I guess you could say." she offered a chuckle, but it didn't quite agree with the look in her eyes.

"A week?"

"Yeah." she nodded.

"Alright." I said with a lighter note in my voice. "I'll do what I can in a week to try to make up what I let happen to you."

"Jerry-" she sighed.

"I mean it. If you need a hand to hold, someone to talk to, I'm you're man. I live in the opposite row, about five beds down." I smiled.

I was delighted when Eliza chuckled, her eyes brightening as she did so. "Alright, if I need any of those, I know which man to go to. You know," she started, shifting her right leg, "You'll be going home with an honorable discharge too, in about two weeks. Perhaps we can stay in contact when we're both in England?"

Once again, my brows furrowed. "Hold on, how do you know I'm going home?"

Eliza shrugged as best she could. "I was awake late one night when the doctors were walking through the room, pointing out who was going home, and when. If I remember correctly, they said that you'd be going home in two weeks, just about. Now then, would you be interested in staying in contact with me when we're back home?"

"Yeah." I nodded slowly. "That sounds lovely. Where do you live?"

"London. I have to admit that I'm a bit of a city girl, when it all comes down to it, but as you've noticed, I'm no softy. City people can be quite strong, you know."

I laughed, putting my hands up in defence. "I didn't say they can't be; didn't even enter my mind."

"Good." she smirked. "You can give me your address before I leave, and I'll give you mine. Which part of England do you live in?"

I couldn't help the fond smile that graced my lips, or the small sigh that passed them as I thought affectionately of my home town. "I live in a village quite near the Lake District, called Midsomer..."

--

_Toby's POV_

I'll never understand how people can sit around and talk for hours, some of them seeming to not even take a breath while they do so. They just talk, and talk, and talk, seemingly blind to their surroundings, and sometimes even to the person that they're speaking to. People like that amaze me, really. Why talk so much, for so long, when you can just sit and listen, like me? You learn so much more that way, in my oppinion, by just sitting there and listening. Sometimes I even go about like I'm playing with my toys, minding my own business, while other adults talk to my mummy, and just listen to what they say. Mummy says I shouldn't pretend to do something just so I can listen in on a conversation; she says that it's called...ev...eves...Well, some big word that starts with an "e" and ends with a "g", and it's rude.

The talking especially gets bad when there's more than one grown up talking to my mummy. They seem to just go on and on, like at my Papa Ben's house tonight. If I counted correctly on my fingers, I think I came up with...five grown ups! That's too many grown ups in one place, if you ask me. They sure were asking my mummy a lot of questions, like how she'd been doing since she'd left M-...Mi...Whatever the place is called that Papa Ben lives in, and how she'd been doing in London, and how was it bringing me up nearly all by herself. I didn't understand that question too much. Mummy says I'm a good boy, that I'm her big boy and I'm not much trouble to raise, compared to some other children, and that she was blessed to have someone like me. So, why were the other grown ups acting like I'd been a lot of trouble?

Then, there was that drink. That red, sometimes white colored, sparkly drink that grown ups seem to drink anytime they gather to have a con....con...convers-a-t-i-o-n, that they never let the kids have. They say that we're too young for it, and that we wouldn't like it anyway. What difference does it make to be a certain age to be able to drink some sort of drink? If kids don't like it, why do grown ups? Some of them are like big children anyway. I really don't like the red, sometimes white sparkly drinks. They make the grown ups act funny after only a few glasses, and then they get scary. Mummy drank some straight from the bottle one time, when a friend left it for her, and she got too much from it, and couldn't even stay on her feet! One time she asked me which of the two doors she'd have to go through to get to her bed room, but there was only one door. She said she was sorry, that she'd never drink that much again, and told me to never allow her to have more than two glasses. That's what I like about my mummy. She does what she tells me she'll do, and sometimes, she puts me in charge. She calls me her "little man of the house", and lets me tell her what to do sometimes, like not eat or drink too much when she's sad about something.

That's another thing I don't understand about grown ups. Why are they sad all the time? It's like that one time in our London flat, when I was playing with my building blocks on the pretty green carpet, and mummy was playing with me. She was all happy, and laughing, until she decided to go check the small stack of mail that was laying on the table. Her smile seemed to melt(strange how a smile can melt into a frown all of a sudden), when she came to a particular envelope, and she sat down at the table and sort of...well...just stared at it. When she finally did open it, this little piece of paper inside it seemed to make her all sad, and then she wouldn't play with me anymore. She told me that she had a headache, which, I knew she was lying about, and went in her bedroom.

I know she told me not to follow her, but I did anyway because I was worried. I snuck as sneaky as I could, which wasn't real difficult on the carpet, and followed her to the door of her closet, where she pulled a jar down from the shelf. It was full of what looked like an awful lot of change, and bill upon bill of pounds, which she dumped out all over the bed, which I hid behind as she was turning around. I really thought it looked like an awful lot of money, but mummy shook her head after she counted it and said, "Not enough," to herself. That's about the time she noticed me peaking from around the foot of the bed, and got angry and sent me to my room for sneaking.

Another time is when I got in from the sand box just behind our flat. Mummy was fixing me lunch(a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, to be exact), and was all smiles as I came through the door.

_"I saw you leave the sand box through the window. Did you have fun?"she asked, licking the last bit of peanut butter from the knife._

_"A bit." I answered, kicking my sandy shoes off on the tiled kitchen floor, sending two small piles of sand out on it._

_Mummy didn't seem to notice the sand, which she usually scolded me about, because she'd been pouring me a glass of milk. "Only a bit?" she smiled. "You looked like you were having loads of fun building yourself sand castles." she set the sandwich and milk in front of me, and then stooped down to put a kiss on my forehead, before sitting across from me. _

_"I was...until the other kids showed up." I mumbled, taking a large bite out of the sandwich. _

_Mummy drew her eye brows close together, something she usually does when she's worried, and leaned over a bit so she was closer to me. "Did they pick on you again, Toby?"_

_"Mhm." I mumbled. "They made fun of my shoes."_

_Mummy sat up and got this con-...con...confoozled? Anyway, this confoozled expression on her face, and then bent over a little to lift the table cloth up, I guess peaking at my shoes. I would have laughed if I hadn't been so upset. "Toby," she chuckled, "Those are your play shoes!"_

_"But Mummy!" I whined, "They said they were dirty, and falling apart, and looked ugly. They said...only poor people wear pa-....pa...path-th-th-th..."_

_"Pathetic?"_

_"Yes! They said only poor people wear pathetic shoes."_

_Mummy's smile quickly turned into a frown, and she rubbed her forehead for a moment. "Toby," she said quietly, "They're just your play shoes. Play shoes are supposed to be dirty, and ragged."_

_"Mummy?"_

_"Hmm?"_

_"Can I get a new pair of shoes?"_

_Mummy seemed to get really sad as she shook her head, then stood and knelt beside me, placing her hand on my belly. "Toby, we don't have money for new shoes right now. I'll get you some after I pay the bills, okay?"_

_"Mummy, why are you sad?" _

_Mummy looked con-con-confooooooozled again, and put on a fake smile. "I'm not sad, Toby, I just can't buy you new shoes at the moment."_

_She walked away, then, to fix her own sandwich, but somehow, I knew she was lying. _

"Toby? Toby, I said you're it."

I decided that I would never understand grown ups, or people. People are strange creatures, mummy said so, and I agree with her completely.

"Toby! Didn't you hear me?"

I flinched a bit at the loud voice, both startled and scared; I wasn't used to hearing loud voices, mostly because mummy said she doesn't like using those to get my attention. Looking up, I found that girl...Amber, standing over me with her hands on her hips, reminding me of mummy when she was frustrated. "Sorry," I mumbled, a bit annoyed. Wasn't this girl going to leave me alone? She'd already talked my ears off. "What did you say?"

"I said, you're it. I've found you, now it's you're turn to find me." she smiled.

Boredly, I looked to the porch, where all of the grown ups were still chatting away, drinking that strange, supposedly bitter red drink. "No thanks," I sighed, "I'm not interested in this game anymore; I'm quite tired."

"But, you seemed fine a minute ago." she pouted. "Why don't we play a different game instead?"

"No thanks." I mumbled in annoyance. "I said I'm tired, and I don't want to play games anymore." Sheesh. For a pretty girl, she certainly could be annoying.

That said, I walked away from my hiding place(which was in the dog house), and to the porch, where immediately every grown up looked at me, smiling for some reason when I yawned and rubbed my eyes. "Where's mummy?" I asked quickly, upon realizing she wasn't mixed in with the other grown ups.

"She fell asleep in the reclining chair." Papa Ben said, a hint of amusement in his voice. "Why don't you sit out here, with us?"

I shook my head slowly, the word "asleep" having reminded me of just how tired I was. Another yawn forced its way past my lips as Remmy stretched out at Papa Ben's feet. "No," I murmured, "I'd like to check on mummy...and then go to bed."

The constable, Mike, I think mummy said his name was, pushed his sleeve back to view his wrist watch, before looking to Papa Ben as he flished his wrist, covering his watch again. "Same goes for us, mate," he smiled, glancing at his tired wife, "It's getting late, and both of us have work in the morning."

I ignored the gorw-ups as they said their good nights', shaking hands and hugging, saying nonsense and making jokes, just as I would ignore mummy and her friends during those times. I've never been any good at good byes', or jokes, so I usually just stand to the side and stay in my own little world.

I was shaken out of my little world, however, when Ben reached down and ruffled my hair, making me realize we were the only two on the porch. "Are you coming?" he asked, friendly smile in place.

"Did she drink too much of that red stuff?" I asked wearily.

Ben's eye brows pulled close together, reminding me of mummy when she acted...con-con-fooooozled. "Red stuff?" he knelt down, getitng eye-level with me. "What red stuff?"

"You know, that red drink that you had with your dinner. Mummy drinks it sometimes when she's sad." I sighed lightly and glanced at Papa Ben's shiny leather shoes, and then his eyes again. "She's been sad a lot lately...but if I tell her to stop drinking it, she does." I smiled slightly, and tried to look over Ben's shoulder into the living room, trying to catch a glimpse of my mummy. "Is she alright?"

Papa Ben stared at me for a few moments, for some reason, before smiling faintly(though I could tell it didn't quite reach his eyes), and squeezed one of my shoulders before standing. "She's fine, Toby, she just got tired after dinner. You've had a long day, the both of you. It's quite a drive from London, isn't it?"

I took his offered hand, (a hand that was much larger and rougher than mine, that seemed to engulf my own), and walked with him as he led me in through the kitchen. "Yes, quite a drive." I murmured, not really paying attention to my own words.

Mummy was sprawled out on the black reclining chair in the living room, her left foot propped up while her other dangled from the foot rest, nearly touching the floor. Both of her arms were slung over each side of the arm rests, making her head loll in a strange angle, reminding me of how I would usually lay while watching tellie. I would have chuckled if I hadn't been so concerned for her, about the way she'd been acting lately, how tired she'd seemed at dinner.

I allowed my hand to slip out of Papa Ben's light grasp as I walked to her, watching to make sure her chest was rising and falling normally, listening to if she was breathing long and deep, like she usually did when she was taking a snooze. "Muuuuuumy?" I whispered, poking her shoulder. I turned to Papa Ben when she didn't move, other than a tiny hitch in her deep breathing. "Papa Ben," I murmured, "Can you take her to her room? She'll get sore if she stays in the chair."

Papa Ben seemed reluctant as he looked at my mummy, as though he were arguing with himself. I turned to fully face him, staring at him with wide, rounded blue eyes. Something in Papa Ben's eyes seemed to soften, and he gave a sigh of defeat. "Alright...maybe we can spare her a sore neck, eh?"

My eyes watched every single move Papa Ben made, making sure he didn't wake mummy up when he slowly stuffed one arm behind her knees, the other behind her back, then tensed when he lifted her, afraid he would drop her, or something. No one had ever lifted mummy up like that before; when she ever fell asleep on the couch or chair, there wasn't really anything I could do about it. I didn't want to wake her, and I obviously couldn't lift her, so she'd just sleep where she crashed, and would complain a small bit about soreness in the mornings.

"Careful..." I said quietly, watching intensely as Papa Ben eased mummy down on her new bed.

Without flaw, Papa Ben had mummy out of his arms, slowly pulling his arms away to make sure she stayed asleep. She did, and with a satisfied smile, he reached for the folded fleece blanket at the foot of the bed, and spread it over her. "Do you need help getting ready for bed?" he asked, turning to me. "Need to brush your teeth, or anything like that?"

"Mm-mm." I hummed softly. "I did that after dinner."

"Well...do you need help with anything else? Pj's? Anything?"

"I'm five years old, Papa Ben; I can get ready for bed by myself."

Papa Ben stifled a chuckle as he walked me out of the room. "Alright, then. Your bed room is right here, across from mummy's. If you need anything, I'm across the living room; the door closest to the kitchen bar."

"Night, night." I mumbled, waiting for him to stop staring at me.

He was still for a moment, before grabbing the door knob. "Good night."

Immediately, I rushed to the door, pressing my ear to it to listen to his heavy foot falls. Oddly, though, they didn't go left and fade as he walked away, but seemed to go across the hall again, into mummy's room. Feeling a strong urge to protect my mummy, I opened the door as quietly as I could, and snuck to the doorway across the hall. Papa Ben was sitting on mummy's bed, staring down at her, stroking the side of her face. My eyes narrowed jealously, making me want to storm in and demand what he was doing, and why he was doing it, but like a good boy, I didn't; I stood and watched, waiting to see when I'd have to lunge at him.

Papa Ben leaned down, pressing a kiss to her forehead, his expression implying that this wasn't the first time he'd done this sort of thing before. He pressed another one, a longer one to her forehead, before pressing his own against hers. "What am I going to do with you?" he whispered.


	4. It'll Be Fine

**Author's Note: Wow...I can't believe it's been four months since my last update! Wow...Well, first I'd like to apologize. School and extracurricular activities have really been eating up my time, and with me possibly about to be getting a job...well, "me time" isn't looking too good. Secondly, before you read, I want to warn you that instead of writing the story in past-tense, I'm going to try to start writing it in present-tense. I find that it's a little easier, not something I'm used to, but a bit easier, so we'll see where it goes from there. Thirdly, I'm going to be completely honest with you, I lost complete interest in this story. My muse for it was completely gone. Flat. Squished. I was too scared to touch it because, without muse, quite frankly, it would have sucked, Lol. But now, my muse is back, and hopefully will remain back for a long time! I'm interested in this story again, and I'll try to continue staying interested. Fourthly, please enjoy! I've made this one extra long to make up for all of that time without posting. Now then, without further delay, here is chapter four.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Midsomer Murders; I only own the characters that I made up.**

* * *

_Ben's POV_

Determined, golden slits of sun shine rebelliously through the deep blue curtains, spilling across the floor and onto the bed like warm butter, right into the faces of the people who occupy it, prompting them that it is well past time to get out of bed. But despite the rebellious golden rays being ever so rude, the room is cool, calm with the sound of shallow breaths, and slightly rustling sheets.

I grunt, rolling over lazily to squint at the bold, red numbers on the clock, before pushing it away to ease over on my back, my arm falling lightly around the shoulders of my companion as I stretch the length of my other arm and legs from headboard to footboard.

My partner stirrs as well, arousing the slightest of smiles on my lips as she, too, stretches, allowing one of her arms to come to a rest on my bare torso, her fingers playing lazily at the hairs on my chest. She inches closer, placing her mouth right next to my ear, whispering, "Good morning", her lips brushing my skin with the lightest of touches.

"Mmm..." I hum, lolling my head in her direction, "Good morning to you, too."

Her long, brown hair has come loose from its ponytail, leaving it to fall in sloppy caramel strands down her shoulders and back, curtaining most of her neck, and tumbling playfully down and around her sparkling, crystal eyes. Her darker brown eye brows pull close together, her eyes scrutinizing my small smile while she cocks her head, "What? What's so amusing?"

My eye brows arch upward a bit, but I don't say anything, only shake my head as I tighten my arm around her.

"You're being awfully quiet." she says suspiciously, now cocking her brows at me while a playful quality takes over her eyes.

I begin to squirm slightly as her fingers quicken, tickling my chest instead of massaging. "I just woke up." I answer softly. "Give me some time to boot-up."

"Boot-up?" she chuckles. "Are you supposed to be some sort of machine?'

I yawn, stretching again as one of the dogs whimpers and scratches at the door. "I may be...for all you know."

Jess's brows remain cocked while she sits up, swinging one of her legs over my body so she can take a seat on my pelvic area. "You mean...like a robot?" she asks skeptically.

I chuckle again, smiling wryly as I gaze up at her. "Yeah...you guessed it. I have to boot up because I'm a robot. Simple as that."

My Jess stares down at me, her head tilting a little to the left, before she snorts, running her fingers through my hair to get it out of my face. "You're not a robot; you're too happy and soft all the time." She leans down, allowing the tip of her nose to touch mine, her lips hovering agonizingly close to my face. "Your eyes are much too warm, and your touch is too gentle. I'm afraid you're a full fledged human being, dear." She smiles.

"Damn...you've figured me out." I can't help but to smile, reaching up to cup the back of her head to bring her face even closer. Her lips are soft, smooth and sweet to my mouth as I steal my first kiss of the day, savoring her like a rich dessert. I close my eyes in bliss, then smile against her lips as she pulls away.

I can hear her chuckling softly, stroking my hair gently as I just lay, still enjoying that brief bit of silence and serenity that I only get to enjoy briefly before my hectic work day starts. I just lay there, completely still as Jess's cool hand runs from my hair to my cheek, before she slides it down my neck and stops on my chest.

"We have guests, you know." She says quietly, and I open my eyes to look at her. She wears only one of my light blue t-shirts, which swallows her, and her favorite pair of undies. "We need to see if they're awake; they're probably famished."

I sigh as her weight lifts first from my body, then the bed, before I hear the sounds of her bare feet padding across the carpet to the closet. It's there that she removes her shirt, replacing it with a bra, and then a white tank-top, followed by a dark pink blouse. I watch her the whole time, transfixed. She realizes this somewhere between pulling on her socks and her blue jeans, and rolls her eyes, muttering, "Horny bugger", under breath on her way to the bathroom.

"Only when you're around!" I defend lightly.

I can barely hear Jess's retort as she brushes her teeth. "It had better stay around me, too!"

A smile is my only reply as I remove the covers from my blue boxer-clad body, and place myself in front of the closet. I put on a white undershirt, followed by a white dress shirt. I stroll to the corner to my left before even thinking about donning my pants.

I barely have my black-with-pin-stripe trousers on when Jess walks back in the room, searching for her shoes. "Still not dressed yet?" She asks, quirking a brow. "Moving a bit slow today, are we? Or are we too busy being horny?" She smirks.

I begin to retort, then think better of it. Instead, I just smile, and buckle my belt before reaching for my light-blue tie. "Nope, I wasn't. I was minding my own business, getting dressed. Oh, and by the way, your shoes are by the door."

She looks to the bedroom door, then back to me. "I don't see them..."

My tie is on and straightened, and now I, too, search for my shoes. "The front door, darling. I guess that's where mine are, too."

The dogs are whimpering, scratching at the door again. I reach for the door knob, and suddenly I'm nearly on the floor, Remmy having jumped up, placing his massive paws on my shoulders. "Get down!" I snap, trying not to shout as the Great Dane drags his slobbery tongue across my neck, face, and then hair, mussing it up even more. "Damn it, Remmy!" I sigh, shoving the monster-sized dog off of me.

My wife leans against the door frame, trying to control her fit of laughter while Lady nipps at my feet.

"Shut up." I grumble.

Her laughter intensifies.

* * *

_Toby's POV_

I find that when I open my eyes for the first time of the day, I rather like the coolness that fills the room, despite the dull morning rays of the sun shining gently in my face, waking me. I sit up slowly, rubbing the sleep out of my eyes before taking in the surroundings of my new room. It's very quiet, I realize, as the loudest sound is a bird chirping near my window; a stark contrast from the loud, bustling streets of London, where I usually wake up to the sounds of honking horns, boat engines, and big Ben's smooth, donging ring. Though the quiet is...okay...I prefer waking up to noise.

I toss the covers from myself and head for the door, not bothering to change out of my navy blue sweatpants and shirt. I step cautiously out in the hallway, looking around to see if anyone else is up. I see no one, and continue to mummy's room, just across from mine. Her room is cool, too, but darker because the curtains are drawn. I don't care, though, as I pad to her bedside.

Mummy's eyes are closed, and her breathing is deep and drawn out, and her lips seem to form a pleasant smile. I smile as well, knowing she's had a good night of sleep. I stand on my tippie-toes, and kiss her forehead. "Sweet dreams, Mummy." I whisper.

I close the door softly behind me, then look cautiously around again. As I walk down the hallway, I find that, even though I'm already quiet, I'm trying to be even more quiet. Maybe it's because the whole house is silent, and there are no city sounds outside. By the time I reach the living room, the silence is bother me. I quickly reach for the remote to the tellie, which sits on the arm rest of one of the couches. I hit the "power" button without a second thought, and sigh happily as the sound fills the room. I flip through the channels, staring blankly at the screen until I come across a station that's playing cartoons.

As usual, I fall into some sort of trance, forgetting my surroundings as I seem to be sucked into an odd place where time seems to disappear without anyone's noticing. I stay like this, eyes wide, mouth slightly open, until a large, strong hand clamps down on my shoulder. The remote falls with a dull "thud" to the rich blue carpet, and I jump with a yelp away from the mystery hand. "I'm sorry!" I say quickly, sliding from the couch to the floor. "I couldn't take the quiet anymore! I had to have noise!"

Papa Ben stares at me as though he's just witnessed a murder, and comes around the couch to kneel down in front of me. "It's okay, Toby; I was just going to say good morning." He furrows his brows, tilting his head while he lays a cool hand on my forehead. "Are you...feeling all right, Toby?"

I push his hand down lightly, blinking slowly at him. "I feel fine." I mumble, "It's just...to quiet. I had to have noise."

Papa Ben nodds slowly. "Okay...I guess you've gotten used to London, hmm?"

I nod worlessly, staring into his coco eyes, hoping that, just maybe, he can offer me some sort of comfort while my mummy can't be with me at the moment.

Papa Ben stares back, undeterred. "Are you sure you're all right?" He asks se...ser...sereeeeeeeenely..? Yes, that word.

Again, I just stare at him, and nod. "Yes, Papa Ben." I say softly.

He stares at me, uncertain, but doesn't push it any further, saying quietly, "Alright. Are you hungry?"

I lift my chin up a little higher, a spark of interest making my eyes slightly wider.

Papa Ben chuckles, and squeezes one of my shoulders. "I thought so."

* * *

_Blake's POV_

My head is aching. Wait...perhaps "aching" isn't the right word. "Pulsing" is the right word. I roll over with a moan, covering my face with one of the four pillows I slept with last night. _"Okay," _I wonder to myself, _"What have I don't lately that could've brought this on?" _I scrounge my mind for something, anything, that will tell me how I've gotten myself in this situation, when I hear the soft twist of the door knob, and then the door squeaking open. Thinking that it's only Toby, I remain stil, and continue to think. _"Okay, I didn't have any sweets last night...I didn't stay up _too_late...I didn't watch any tellie..." _

The mattress shifts slightly, alerting me to someone else's presence on the bed. It must be Toby...he crawls in bed with me sometimes while it's still early in the morning.

_"I haven't stared at a computer screen since yesterday morning...I haven't-"_ The pillow is lifted from my head, exposing my face to the dull light in the room. I moan again, and pull the covers up to replace the missing pillow. "Toby, Mummy has a headache." I mutter. The covers are also removed from my face, and I sigh irritably. "Toby..." I warn. A cool hand lays across my forehead, and I realize quickly that it's much too large to belong to Toby. I crack one eye open, just a slit, and peek up at a pair of very familiar brown eyes. "Ben?"

He nods twice, and smiles. "Good morning."

"For you, maybe." I attempt to smile, but I think it turns out to be more of a wince. "What did I do to bring this on?" I ask quietly.

Ben pauses for a moment, and tilts his head to the right. "You had quite a bit of wine last night."

I groan, a third time now, and cover my eyes with my right hand. "Was I drunk?"

"A bit tipsy, but not too bad. You fell asleep on the recliner before anyone could really notice." He pauses again, then says slowly, "Toby told me...that you have drinking problems sometimes."

I stay still for a moment, not knowing how to react. My little boy told a man that he barely knows that I have...drinking issues?

"Blake?" He prompts quietly.

I remove my hand slowly from my eyes, peering timidly up at Ben like a child about to be scolded.

Ben doesn't appear to be angry, though. Rather, his face is smooth and calm, his eyes expectant, but not impatient as he gazes down at me.

I take his hand, which is laying next to my hip, and examine his slightly rough palm. "Sometimes." I finally sigh.

Ben tilts his head a little more, studying my face. "Sometimes?" He repeats.

"Only when the bills come." I admit. "Rent has gone up...I'm working longer hours now. I get stressed out, so I drink a little."

"A little." He states.

"Mhm." I hum quietly.

I swallow lightly as Ben takes his hand back, resting it by my shoulder. "Look at me while you say "a little"."

Unable to put it off or find something to distract myself with, I sit up, and look him directly in the eyes. "Okay...so it's not so little. I drink a lot when I'm under stress, but I don't always get tipsy, or drunk; very rarely do I get drunk."

"Guess what?"

"Hmm?"

"I had a very similar conversation with your dad." He states solemnly.

I fall back a little, catching myself, of course, and snort. "Wuh...How can you compare me to him?! I'm not an alcoholic, I'm not a rapist, and I don't abuse my child!"

"I"m not comparing you to him," He states calmly, "I'm just saying that I had a conversation, cery similar to this one, with your dad when you were Toby's age."

I take in a deep breath, then let it out in a slow, soft sigh. "Okay," I murmur, "I think I see what you're getting at. Put the drink down, right?"

He nods. "Exactly. Substitute it with something else. Try grape juice; it's as close to wine as you can get."

I laugh softly through my nose, but remain silent.

"Is that going to be a problem?"

"No."

"Look at me when you speak."

I look up with my eyes, keeping my chin angled down. "I'm not ten," I smile, "And now, it won't be a problem."

Ben smiles, too, and tilts my chin up. "Hey, I just don't want you to mess up like he did. You've got a lot ahead of you, you know?"

He pats my cheek, and I snatch his hand quickly in both of mine, placing a kiss in his palm. "Remember the last time I kissed your palm? You were in the hospital after we'd gotten banged up; I'd been literally worried sick about you." I reach out with my left hand, and grace the jagged scar on his right cheek; a discolored reminder of what happened in those painful months. "Yet, here you are," I smile, "Safe and sound, alive and well." I stare into his eyes, unwavering at his gaze, hoping that he'll catch my hidden message.

Ben stares back, just as unwavering, searching my eyes as well. We just sit here and stare, sending silent messages back and forth to one another, staring with gazes that only fathers share with their daughters.

"Are you two about to kiss, or something?"

Startled, the two of us look up to find Jess staring at us with a quizzical brow cocked, a slight smile pulling at the corners of her lips.

"Yes!" I say cheerfully, plastering on a cheesy smile, "I was just about to make my move!" I quickly wrap my arms around a very surprised Ben's neck, and tug him against me to plant one right on his cheek.

Jess laughs at me, shaking her head. "You haven't changed." Then, after a slight pause, "Well, when you two love birds are finished up, breakfast is ready."

* * *

_Later that day, at Causton Police Station; Ben's POV_

I perform my morning ritual at the office, which is to get a cup of coffee, with one cream, and two spoons of sugar. I stir a plastic spoon in it boredly, then take a sip as I walk to my desk. "Ah, good morning, Sir!" I say cheerfully to my superior, who sits quietly at his desk across from mine.

Barnaby lifts his blue eyes up and looks at me, processing the styrofoam cup in my hand, then the file I have tucked beneath my arm. "Good morning, Jones." he says, equally cheerful. "You have a letter on your desk; it's from Court."

I grimace as I set my coffee down, staring at the letter with contempt. "I hope it's not jury duty...ugh."

Barnaby smirks at me, and takes a sip of his own coffee.

As I tear the letter open and begin to read, my contempt faulters to shock, and then a tinge of fear. My arms lower slowly, and I look up at Barnaby again.

Barnaby gives me a look of confusion. "Are you all right?"

I look at the letter again, then work my jaw several times before I can get words to come out. "Someone wants to press charges against me."

* * *

_Jerry's POV_

"How do you feel?"

"The same as five minutes ago."

"What about...now?"

Eliza chuckles, flicking her eyes about, taking in her surroundings. "Jerry, I'm going to feel the same way in every room you take me to."

"It's wort a try," I say, "It's better than the usual room. You can only stare at me and ceiling in there." I smile affectionately at Eliza as I push her slowly in the narrow stretcher trolley, taking her on her first tour of the hospital. She seems oddly happy for a person that's basically completely disabled, but I don't care; her cheerful attitude spreads like a virus.

"What about outside?" She asks, "I haven't been outside in so long!"

I pause, looking at the doors that lead to patio just outside of the building. What would the staff say? Psh, who cares? A person can only stay sane in a building for so long. "Why not?" I say, and continue pushing the stretcher.

I'm almost to the door, when a voice stops me. "Sir, where are you taking that patient?"

I turn to the brunette nurse who's stopped me, and shrug. "Just out on the patio; she could use some fresh air."

The nurse shakes her head. "I'm sorry, sir, but I don't think you should. Take her back to where she was."

I face her fully, now. "Miss, she's been in that room for weeks. She needs to go outside, for at least a few minutes. The lady wants to go outside, so I'm going to take her outside."

"Do I need to call security?" She asks impatiently.

"That won't be necessary."

The three of us turn to the softer voice; it's doctor Bird.

"What's going on here?" She asks, staring the three of us down.

"Well he's-"

"I was just-"

"Excuse me." Our heads turn to the quietest voice's owner. Eliza smiles, and weakly lifts her hand. "He was just going to take me out on the patio to look at the stars. I haven't been out in a while, and I asked my comrade if he would do me the favor of wheeling me out, only just for a few minutes."

Bird turns to the nurse and smiles pleasantly at her. "I can take care of this, go back to your duties."

The nurse walks away, a look of slight annoyance on her face.

"Jerry," Bird sighes, "This is the third favor I've done for you."

"I know," I smile, "And I appreciate it, really. I'll repay you some how, I promise."

Bird rolls her eyes. "Just be glad I find you too cute to say "no" to."

"Oh I am, trust me. Thank you Dr. Bird. Could you get the door, please?"

It is cooler outside than I originally anticipated, and immediately my bare torso hardens and becomes lumpy with goosebumps. My dog tags become much colder against my chest, which causes this small area of skin to become slightly red.

"Oh...it feels so good out here." Eliza murmurs.

I smile down at her, and lower the stretcher a little so I can still see her well when I sit down on a bench just outside the door. "Yeah?"

"Mhm. It gets quite stuffy in these bandages, you know. They're more irritating than you'd think."

"I can imagine." I answer quietly, glancing down at my own bandaged right wrist. "I used to think this thing was annoying."

Eliza chuckles, a light, lofty sound in the middle of this depressing place. "Just because I'm covered in bandages doesn't mean you're not entitled to state your own discomforts. Bandages are annoying in general."

I nod, but remain quiet, choosing to look up at the star-filled sky.

"I used to do this a lot when I was a kid." She tells me, also staring at the sky. "I always loved to stare up at the stars and wonder what was out there." She's a little softer as she continues, "This may be one of the last times I'll ever get to do this."

My eyes flick back down to her, and I realize her eyes are glassy. I reach for her hand immediately, giving it a gentle squeeze as I rub her knuckles. "No, you're going to have many opportunities to stare at the stars."

Eliza shakes her head as well as she can, and squeezes my hand back. "No...the doctors have given me a few weeks to live. I'm not going to be at home for very long until...until..."

I try not to focus on her face, for I hate seeing a woman cry; it bothers me for some reason, just not as much as it used to before I was sent here to fight for my country. I guess seeing the horrors of war with my own eyes made the thought of crying a little more bearable...but, seeing a woman cry... "I won't let you go, not while I'm here, not if I can help it." I say soothingly. "You'll be all right on my watch."

Eliza smiles, despite her tears, and continues to stare at the sky. "And I wish I could believe you could do that. I'm sorry...I've known I won't last long after I get to England, but...three days away from leaving...it's just now sinking in." She turns to look at me, "And you won't be there to see me through it."

"I will be." I say slowly, giving up at trying to comfort her anymore, because I know she's right about her future, "Have someone contact me when you get weaker, and I'll come; I'll be at your bedside in an instant."

She half laughs, half sobs, squeezing my hand even tighter. "You would do that for me?"

I smile lightly, tugging at my cammo pants. "Well, you have to admit we've been through a lot since boot camp...and you _are _very pretty, you know."

Now she scoffs at me. "I can't believe you're flirting with me while we're discussing my death."

"Let's not worry about it right now. Let's worry about what time we have together. Tell you what," I grin, scooting as close to her as I can, "Be my girlfriend."

Now she just flat-out laughs at me. "Me? Be _your _girlfriend?"

I sit up straight, putting on mock hurt. "I don't know how to take that statement. Are you saying I'm not good enough?" I pout, very obviously fake.

"No! No you-...Ugh, Jerry." She rolls her eyes, "You're a good man. Any woman that turns you down doesn't deserve you. What I meant was...I'm about to die. I don't want you to be in a relationship like that."

"Why, thank you, and miracles _do _happen, you know?"

"This isn't something to joke about, you know." She says solemnly.

I straighten up even more, and rub her knuckles with my thumb. "I don't joke about my relationships, Eliza. If, and I do mean _if _you're really going to die in a few weeks, I will make sure they're the best damn weeks you've ever lived."

"And if I do live?"

"I'll marry you."

**Well, there you have it! Hopefully you like the new style and ideas I'm trying out. Again, I apologize for taking so long, so hopefully this extremely long chapter made up for it. Please review! I really, really appreciate it when you do! Thank you!**


	5. Meaning Behind the Mood

**Disclaimer: I do not own Midsomer Murders; I own the characters that I made up.**

* * *

_2 Days After Ben Recieves His Letter_

_Dinner Time_

_Ben's POV_

Though Jess and Blake's combined cooking techniques smell great, I find that I can hardly focus on my stomach. My reputation, my name...my hard work, is being put on trial. I want to fight, but how does one fight an enemy that they don't know, or haven't seen?

"Papa Ben?"

I turn slowly to the little voice, and smile down at Toby, who stands beside me while I sit at the dinner table. "Yes, Toby?"

"Are you okay, Papa Ben?"

I furrow my brows, and fold my hands on the top of the table. "Yeah. Why do you ask?"

"Well..." He hesitates, looking at my hands before my eyes. "You have the same look in your eyes that mummy does when she reads the bills."

I blink. Is my despair really that obvious? "Uhm...I'm fine, Toby. Thank you for your concern."

Toby shakes his head. "No, you're not."

I blink again. Did he really just... "Are you always this inquisitive?"

"What's that mean?"

"Inquisitive?"

"Uh-huh."

"Well," I say, tilting my head, "It means...you're very curious; you ask a lot of questions."

"Yeah."

"Yeah...You are?"

"Mhm. I ask a lot of questions."

I snort lightly through my nose. "I can tell."

"Sooooo...what's bothering you?" He asks, rocking back and forth from his toes to his heels.

This time I chuckle, and lift him up onto my lap. "Ah...Adult problems, Toby; don't worry about it."

Toby swings his feet in an act of trying to fight off his shyness, and plays with the end of my now loosened tie. "But...it's a problem, whether you're a grown-up or a kid. What's the difference? Why do grown-ups always sluff their problems off as more important than kids' problems?"

I stare at him, my jaw slightly agape, my arms loose around his waist. "How do you come up with all of this?"

"Come up with what?"

"All of this...never-mind. What about you? What's going on in your world, Toby?"

He shakes his head. "Nothing; I'm just hungry. You didn't answer my question, Papa Ben."

"Toby, are you bother him?" Blake walks the short distance from the kitchen to the table, and places a dish on hers and Toby's place mat. They're full of seasoned chicken, potato salad, vegetables, beans, and two slices of bread.

"No, no, he's not bothering me." I smile warily, "He's just asking me a few questions, that's all."

"Yes, that's the problem." She says, quirking a brow before taking a seat. "Come here, Toby, sit next to me."

Toby gives me another meaningful look before hlping himself down from my lap; a look that seems to go right through me. If a five year old can detect my distress, what will the judge see in me?

Jess walks into the room next, carrying her plate and my own. She sets one before me with a smile, and pats my shoulder before taking her usual seat beside me.

I give her a light smile as she looks at me, but, Jess being Jess, instantly detects that something isn't right. "What's wrong, darling?"

"Nothing," I tell her, "I'm just tired."

I take a bite of seasoned chicken, but not without notice of the intentional glare that Toby sends across the table at me.

* * *

_After Dinner_

_Jess's POV_

I watch with satisfaction as my guests polish off their plates; Toby polishing it off for a second time now, commenting happily on how great my chicken and veggies are. Blake takes the last bite of her last vegetable, while I myself take my last two nibles of chicken.

"Thank you, Toby," I smile, "I have the most difficulty with vegetables."

Blake chuckles, and takes a sip of water. "You must have done fine; I can't get him to touch green foods most of the time."

I look to my husband, to view his progress, only to find that he's barely touched any of his food through the course of dinner; he's been oddly quiet, too. I touch his kunckles light with the tips of my fingers, and say clearly, "Honey?"

Ben blinks slowly, his eyes lazily sweeping across the table before settling on me. He raises his eye brows in question, staring expectantly at me.

"What's wrong, honey?"

He blinks slowly again, and shakes his head. "I'm fine...just tired."

I glance at Blake, and then Toby, then back to my husband again. "No, really."

He sighs and shifts his weight, and captures my hand in his to drag his thumb across my own knuckles. "Nothing; I'm fine."

Repressing the urge to sigh, I stand and stack up all of the plates, gather the silverware, and deposit them in the sink. "Blake, to you mind if my husband an I go for a walk? I don't think we'll be gone long."

"No, that'll be fine. We need to get ready for bed, anyway." She smiles, looking down at Toby, who appears to be barely awake. "Someone's getting sleepy."

"Thank you, dear." I say sweetly. "Darling?" I hold out my hand.

Ben cocks his brows, but takes my hand, standing sluggishly before we walk to the door. I help him put on his coat, and drape a scarf around his neck, before doing the same for myself.

The air outside is cold and crisp on our faces and hands, causing the two of us to pause on the porch for a few moments, allowing ourselves to get used to it. I put my hand on my husband's and he engulfs it in his own as I lead him to the sidewalk. "What's got your stomach in a knot, darling?"

My husband is quiet, letting out a sigh to watch his breath form in front of him, then disappear like a ghost. "Why do you keep asking?"

"I can _see _that something is bothering you. You think I can't tell after five years of being married to you?"

"Right." He murmurs, "Sorry." He begins rubbing his thumb along my knuckles again, and continues walking.

"No," I say, tugging his arm until he stops, "We're going to stay right here until we get this resolved." I say firmly. "Now, tell me what's wrong, please." I say quietly.

Ben sighs again, and looks down at me. "Okay...but I want you to be patient."

I nod, and squeeze his hand for encouragement.

"I received a letter... a few days ago." He says slowly, "It's from court."

I blink. "Okay. What is it about?"

He releases my hand, leaving it to feel cold and empty as he eases himself down onto the sidewalk, staring ahead blankly. "Remember that case...where I caught and testified against that man that raped, then stabbed a woman to death, before throwing her body in a river? That was about...three years ago."

"Yea." I murmur, placing myself beside him. "What about it?"

"When..." H swallows, and looks down at his feet. "When...Okay, I'd had to chase him down to capture. I don't know how long I chased him, but it had been a while, and I knew he was going to wear out soon. I was able to heard him around and back towards the car, and..."

I scratch his back with my fingernails, making sure to get all of his favorite areas, like below the base of his neck and between his shoulder blades, encouraging him to continue after he faulters. "And..?" I say softly.

"And," He sighs, "I had to lunge to catch him. When I lunged, I knocked his head against the passenger door of the car, which," He turns to me, now, his eyes dull and his expression somber, "Leads to this letter...that I received two days ago."

I furrow my brows, pausing momentarily in my scratching. "Okay, so what does capturing a criminal have to do with going to court? I'd think-"

"The man's brother is pressing charges of racism and brutal tactics against me because the man supposedly already had mental problems and health issues up there," He says, tapping his left temple, "Supposedly I'm racist against rapists because of what happened to Blake."

"That's what's been wrong with you for two days?" I ask softly.

"Mhm." He sighs, looking up at the stars.

I try not to chuckle as I scratch the back of his head. "Ben, you'll win this case, easily! You have a great reputation, a lot of citizens and neighbors that will vouch for you. Why are you so upset?"

Ben's eyes darken as they fall on me, and slowly, I draw my hand away. His hand shakes as he captures my stray hand in the air, and he kisses it before placing it on his lower thigh. "That man died, Jess. The mental illnesses combined with the head injuries he already had sent him over the edge when I bashed his head against the door, accidentally. He died in the hospital a few days later." He takes a long, shaky breath, and turns fully to face me. "Jess, they're not just trying to get me for racism and brutality...they're trying to get me for murder!"

I sit still, staring, allowing the words to sink in as he just stares back, stressed and searching for answers as though they're right here in my eyes. "Darling," I whisper, "Did you know about his injuries? His illnesses?" My fingers glide up and down between his knee and his mid-thigh in an attempt to soothe him. "They can't hold you accountable for not knowing."

"I knew about his mental illness...but they didn't say anything about head injuries. There wasn't anything I could've done about it; I lunged at the opportune moment, and it happened to be in front of the car."

I sigh as I ealize he's trying to assure himself, trying to sway himself to believe he didn't do anything wrong. "It's going to be okay, Ben." I say, cupping his cheek, "Like I said, you have a great reputation, many people will vouch for you, and no one mentioned that the man was wounded. _Surely _they can't hold anything against you?"

"People can be and are framed, you know." He murmurs. "It happens all the time...and sometimes there's nothing that can be done about it."

"Not if I can help it." I smile, "No one's going to frame you."

He stares, shaking his head. "How can you take everything so lightly?"

My hand slides from his cheek while I wrap my arms around his waist, placing my lips closely to his ear. "I didn't take your proposal lightly." I murmur. "I don't take our marriage lightly...I don't take _you _lightly."

"Then why are you taking the situation lightly?" He grumbles.

"I'm not. I'm making light of the situation."

"Whatever." He mumbles, unceremoniously pressing his chin to his fist, looking away once more.

I sigh, and squeeze him a little harder than usual around the waist, before letting go. "I don't like it when you're like this."

Ben just sighs as though he's about to be lead to his death, and stares straight ahead at God knows what.

A shiny black car drive by very slowly, almost so that it seems it's going to stop. Ben looks at it with a suspicious eye, the brown pools shining forebodingly as he gets to his feet, officer skills kicking in instantly. The car stops a few yards down from me, and Ben pulls out his badge as the driver rolls the window down. "Good evening." Ben says, flashing his badge, "Anything I can help you with? Need directions?"

"No," The driver, whom I can't see through the tinted glass, says, "Jus' drivin' aroun'. Go' in'na figh' wiv my wife. Though' i' would cool me uff."

Ben quirks his brows, I'm guessing from the thick accent with which the Englishman speaks, but nods. "Be careful; it can be a bit dangerous around here at night."

"Yeah, suh. Thank ye, suh."

"Odd character." Ben mumbles as the car drives away.

"Odd?" I ask.

"Yeah. People don't usually drive around like that unless they're looking for something."

"Looking for something?"

"Yeah," He says quietly, staring at the car as it turns off onto the main road, "Like a way to break into a house, or building. Come on, we don't need to be out here anymore."

* * *

_After Dinner_

_Jerry's POV_

"What's the matter, Jerry?"

I blink, breaking from my reverie as a cool hand lays across my naked chest. "Come again?"

"I said, what's the matter? You've got a look in your eyes."

I furrow my brows. "What look?"

"Like you're about to be stood up in front of a firing squad." Eliza chuckles. "What's got you going, hm?"

I blink to clear my hazy vision, turning my chair so that it faces Eliza's bed. "Just thinking." I sigh.

A nurse enters the room briefly to set a tray on the stand next to the bed. "You never came to dinner." She says to me. "I figured you might want something in your stomach after all that work you've done."

"Thank you." I say with a fake smile. "We appreciate it."

The nurse buys my act with a pleased smile. "We appreciate it. All those files weren't going to sort themselves." She says over her shoulder as she walks for the exit.

My attention is on Eliza again before the door is closed, and I help her to sit up as well as she can, and take one of the bowls from the tray. I vaguely note that alphabet soup are the contents as I carefully shovel a spoonful into her mouth.

"It's good." She says, "You should eat yours first before it gets cold."

"Nope," I say, shaking my head as I give her another bite, "Ladies first."

Her eyes twinkle as she swallows. "Always the gentleman, eh?"

I snort, giving her another spoonful. "Not as much as my dad. But, he is the one that taught me that a real man can wait for a lady if she needs waiting; put her before himself."

"Your father sounds like a good man."

"He is." I smile, "Big believer in morals...chivalry. He's the only reason I'm the way I am."

"I'll have to give him my thanks." She smiles, "It's nice to have at least one good man around here."

I just smile, and continue feeding her.

"You didn't answer the question."

"What question?"

"About what's bothering you." She presses. "That's one thing, Jerry. If I'm going to marry you, you've got to let me know what's going on."

I allow the spoon to rest in the bowl as I meet her eyes, studying the concern in their depths despite her pleasant smile. "Okay," I murmur. "But it's really corny."

"I don't care; just let me know."

I ease the bowl back down onto the tray, sighing in defeat while I purse my lips. "But...it's going to sound _so _corny!" I mumble.

"Ahhh..." She grins. "It's something that's going to affect your pride, then? Out with it; I promise I'll try not to laugh."

I narrow my eyes at her, briefly, lowering my head to look at her at an angle. "You're leaving tomorrow...I don't want to go through a week in this hell without you here. You really brighten this place up, you know? Now then...I told you it was going to sound corny."

Eliza stares at me, studying me with soft eyes, silently, until a smile slowly grows from nothing, into a gentle grin.

"Told you it was rubbish." I grumble.

"No," She says quietly, stretching for my hand.

I ease her work, giving her my palm, allowing her to squeeze it.

"You've just made me feel lovely." Her grin tones down to a gentle smile, and she lifts my hand up to cradle it with both against her chest. "You know that? I almost feel well enough to attempt to walk."

"My pleasure." I smile back, flexing my fingers to graze the base of her neck.

She blinks slowly, smiling gently at me still. "Come here."

I quirk my brows, but do as she says.

Her lips, despite her burned skin from the chin down, are soft and warm; the first lips I've tasted in five years. It surprises me, to be honest, and I have a sharp intake of breath before my body takes over and kisses her back. She chuckles into my mouth, sweeping her slick tongue across mine before _slowly _pulling away, nibbling on my bottom lip before letting it go.

"Thank you." She sighs, closing her eyes as her head sinks back against the pillow.

I stare, then blink, then smile. I guess...sometimes...the element of surprise can be a good thing.

**Corny chapter ending, I know, but...I thought it was appropriate. Sorry for the month-long delay...but, I guess it's better than four months delay, Lol. Thank you for your patience, and please review, because I appreciate it! I think I'll probably move this story into the Midsomer Murders TV category after I get some reviews. Thanks again, and Happy Christmas!**


	6. Just the One Concerned Soul

**Disclaimer: I do not own Midsomer Murders.**

* * *

_Ben's POV_

I didn't get much sleep last night. Granted, it was more than I've been getting for the past two days, but still, it wasn't much. I saw every hour of the night displayed in bold red numbers, and around six in the morning, I give up. I sit up with a sigh, stretching as the covers fall and pool around my waist, then rub the sleep from my eyes as Jess stirs beside me. I watch her with lazy eyes as she shifts and turns in my direction, not opening her eyes as she reaches for me, her fingertips brushing my side.

"Wha's th' matter?" She slurrs, becoming still again.

"Nothing...I'm just tired." I say, bringing her hand to my lips to kiss her fingers, before depositing it on my right knee.

"You jus' woke up...How 'er you tired?"

"It's nothing, dear; don't worry about it. Go back to sleep, 'kay?" I kiss her hand again, and pull the covers to her shoulders.

She grabs the back of my boxers when I try to leave the bed. "Hey, wa's the matter?" She mumbles, "Wha' time is it?"

"Six in the morning. Look, I'm fine; I need to get ready for work."

"A' this hour?"

I blink, and remove her hand from my boxers. "It's only thirty minutes earlier than usual." I stand and bend over her, pressing a lingering kiss to her forehead. "Just go back to sleep, please? It's no use for me to try and get back to sleep with only thirty minutes before I have to get up. You still have an hour...Go to sleep." I murmur.

"O-kay." She yawns.

I place myself in front of the bathroom mirror, staring somewhat in a daze at the man that seems to glower back at me. His hair looks as though its been through a wind storm, sticking up or out in any which direction it pleases. His eyebrows are lopsided, one being bent down low over one eye, while the other arches slightly upward. The eyes are the most disturbing on the man, I decide, they being hollow, and dull. I regard them for a moment, and blink a few times as though it'll make them brighten. It doesn't work, however, and I reach for the small, black and silver razor that always lays somewhere between the toothbrushes and the sink.

I fall into a stupor no sooner than when I feel the cool, smooth texture of the shaving cream on my face. My mind wanders on minor things, (or seemingly minor, anyway), such as the bills, small house projects...like that patch of the roof that I still haven't fixed, or the three-fourths of the garage that I still haven't cleaned. I ponder on each of them, wondering carelessly if I will or won't finish them any time soon.

"Ouch." I don't use the word as an exclamation or as a replacement for a curse, but rather as a statement. A thin line of blood trickles quickly down my jawline and drips twice onto the white lavatory. I curse once as I reach for a tissue, erasing the jagged red line with a sigh. This makes the first knick in a while, ending my month-long trend of cut-free shaves.

I go through a routine I used often when I was a teenage boy...dragging out a bottle of antiseptic from beneath the sink, a tissue, and dress my small wound. I stare at the bloodied tissue blankly after cleaning my cheek, narrowing my eyes as I zone out to the red color stained on the white object.

_I sit in my favorite reclining chair, taking in a deep breath in an attempt to relax. Parenting is not easy, I decide, especially when the child of which is to be parented doesn't ever say or do anything that requires said parenting to begin with. How does the parent communicate when the parentee just sits on the couch across from you, studying you with an inquisitive eye?Subtly sizing me up, watching my every move, measuring my every breath, counting every blink as she herself doesn't seem to blink at all. She's done this several times, stared at me like she was memorizing my every feature. _

_I'm not as unnerved by her sapphire gaze today, but not quite used to it, either. I lean forward, bringing my gaze to hers just as intently, and press my mouth and chin to my folded hands. Blake, though timid and still weary of me, even after I've patched her knee wound and held her through the rough night, copies my actions. I narrow my eyes, and she does the same. I close my eyes slowly, then open them to slits, and she follows suit. I chuckle lightly, winking at her, and moments later, very slowly, she winks back, and "hmms" rather than chuckles._

_I stand up, making every move slow and calculated, mindful that she still doesn't like quick movement. For a moment, I lock eyes with her, before dropping my gaze to the covered gun wound sticking slightly out from the hem of her cut-off sweat pants. "How's your knee?" I ask quietly._

_She shifts her weight, just staring at me with startled eyes._

_"How's your knee?" I ask again, softer this time. _

_"S-sore." She murmurs after a brief moment of thought. "I th-think...the dressings need...t-to be changed." She says at length._

_I give her a slight nod, and fetch an injury kit before taking a seat beside her. "Put your leg across my lap."_

_She does so reluctantly, wincing with a soft mew, biting her lower lip painfully. She doesn't like complaining about her pain, and apparently doesn't like making pained noises, or making any hint of being in pain._

_"It's okay," I say quietly, cutting slowly through the bloodied mess of bandages, "You're in pain...it's okay to act like you are." I smile gently at her as I peel the gauze away, one by one._

_She stares at my hands in a daze, tensing more and more as the wetness and amount of blood on the white dressings grow denser and deeper. I pull the last of them away, revealing the thick, irritated wound, which has now grown a shade of purple, dotted with bloodied, mushy pieces of skin and flesh. My hand flies to my mouth and nose as the smell of blood and pus reach my nostrils. I see Blake cock her head from the corner of my eye, and glance at her._

_"Are you...o-okay?"_

_I nod my head vigorously, and open and close my mouth a few times in failed attempts to tell her I can be queasy depending on what I'm looking at. _

_"Want me to...t-take over?" She asked softly. _

_"N-...No." I say, "I'll be...fine." I dab up some of the blood with a paper towel, then lock eyes with her again while an alcohol-soaked rag hovers above the wound. "Ready?" _

_She picks up two of the clean paper towels and folds them as many times as they'll go, then crams them between her teeth. With pain-anticipating eyes, she gives me a curt nod as she balls up her fists. _

_She does better than I expect her to when the alcohol touches her ruined flesh. She doesn't even make a sound as she squeezes her eyes shut tightly, her knuckles turning white as her fingers reach inward for her palms. I begin to take the rag away to ask if she's alright, only...she swoons before I get the chance. I stare at her blankly while her body lays back limply, watching to make sure she's still breathing, only to realize I'd better take advantage of her being unconscious while it lasts._

_I breathe normally again when the gauze and bandages are in place, the smell and repulsive wound hidden and kept. Blake breathes normally as well, and doesn't stir in the slightest when I remove the paper towels from her mouth, then position her comfortably on the couch so that she can rest with as little pain as possible._

_I take the trash bin with me as I walk away, noting that the only color I can see in it is...red._

"You've cut yourself."

I blink rapidly, noting that the hollow man in the mirror has a caramel-haired companion...a companion that's shaken me from my vault of...what I thought were forgotten woman, very unlike the man, looks full of life, radiant, even. Her crystal-blue eyes are startling compared to the dull green of the man's, and full of concern.

"Hm?" I hum numbly.

"You cut yourself; that's the first time in a while." Jess tells me. "Are you all right?"

"I thought I told you to go back to sleep?" I say quietly, rinsing the razor off under the quickly flowing tap water.

"Well, if you don't want me around, then..."

"No, no." I grab her arm gently with a sigh, moving over so she has access to the sink. "I just had a...strange memory come up; I thought I'd forgotten all about it."

"What was it?" She asks, reaching for her toothbrush.

I narrow my eyes as I comb my hair, shaking my head as well as I can while doing so. "Nothing important; just something about when I first brought Blake home...when she was barely talking."

Jess shrugs and continues brushing her teeth. "Oh. You looked like you were upset over something."

"Nope...I'm fine. I need to get ready for work."

I make my way down the hallway after I'm dressed(in my usual work attire, of course), not quite sure what I'm doing. My feet take me to Blake's room, while in my head, I wonder why they do so. She probably isn't even awake yet, and I'm due at Barnaby's place in less than half an hour...and it takes me a good few minutes to get there.

My knuckles rap on the door lightly, and I'm surprised to hear a soft murmur of welcome. The door moves slowly until Blake is in my sight, looking at me with curiosity. "Hey." Is all I can think to say.

"Hello." She says quietly, and beckons me to come in when I continue standing in the door. "What's on your mind?"

I ease myself on the edge of her bed, not realizing Toby's under the covers with her until I'm there. He sleeps soundly, his body still, moving only slightly as he breathes. One of his little hands presses against his mother's ribs, while the other securely holds the collar of her black t-shirt. Blake's arm drapes around him, while her hands rests on his rump, her thumb stroking his hip.

"Bad dream." She says quietly. "He crawled in here with me around three in the morning."

I nod wordlessly, and continue staring.

"What's the matter?"

"Just a little tired...nothing major."

"After you just woke up?" She snorts.

"Ugh..." I sigh, dropping my head a little, "You sound like my wife."

She chuckles, and closes her eyes again, her thumb going back to its stroking. "I guess you just didn't get much sleep, then. I've had plenty of those kinds of nights."

I bring my head up again and seem to just watch her breathe. "Yeah...I saw every hour of the night and morning."

"Mmm." Her brows furrow, but she doesn't open her eyes. "Is that letter really bothering you that much?"

I become absolutely still. "How do you know about that?" I say quietly.

Blake opens her eyes again, and gently extracts Toby from her side so she can sit up. "Jess showed me the letter; it's complete rubbish, Ben. Someone just wants to stir up trouble, which he may very well do, but he's not going to get you, or your money." She smiles softly, and pats my shoulder. "I've got your back, Ben. If they go after you, they'll have to go after me, too. Now, stop worrying yourself over nothing, and get to work before you're late; you know how Barnaby is about tardiness."

I heave out a sigh, and nod with a tiny smile.

"By the way," She says when I'm at the door, "What did you _really _come in for?"

My brows arch slightly, and I curve my fingers around the side of the door. "Can I not talk to my own daughter?"

She narrows her eyes, though the smile stays in place.

"I was just thinking about you...and wanted to see you before I left."

"Well, aren't you the sweetest thing." She coos playfully.

* * *

My desk is as tidy as my mind...which is a complete mess. I'm glad that the coffee is extra strong this morning as I try to sort things out, taking quick, vigorous gulps every few seconds. _"It was Mr. Charles." _I think to myself, sorting through the papers. _"No, no it wasn't. He was at the pub of the time of the murder, and he has witnesses backing him up. At least, that's what my notes say." _I take another gulp of coffee, then pick up another sheet of paper.

"Did you hear me?"

I pause. Voices. I'm hearing voices I'm so tired. I shake my head and go about sorting through another stack. _"Why am I even looking at this man? He wasn't the last one to see Mr. Jacobs alive; it's Peterson that I need to be looking at." _I reach for a sticky-note and a pen to write down my thoughts, when, seemingly out of the blue, I'm hit in the face with a paper ball, which nearly causes me to fling the cup of coffee off my desk and send myself out of my chair.

Upon looking across the way, I see that Barnaby is the thrower of said paper ball, staring at me with triumphant blue eyes. "Have I got your attention now?"

"Sir." My tone is emotionless as I nod.

"I said your name three times, and asked if you could hear me twice."

"Sorry, Sir. If you care to understand the reasoning for my mental absence, I didn't get much sleep; I've been thinking about the court case. What is it that you need, Sir?" I arch my brows and rub my eyes, waiting for his answer.

"Peterson. I want you to investigate Peterson."

"I was just thinking the same, Sir, to be honest. Did you happen to catch his address from the bar tender?"

"Yes, here on a sticky-note for you." His wrinkly right hand holds out the blue note for me to fetch.

I pull my jacket on before I take it, and head for the door without so much as a nod.

"Oh, Jones?"

My slick-soled shoes slide on the smooth floor, and my brows arch.

"Don't worry about that court case; you already have it won."

* * *

_Jerry's POV as he waits for Eliza's Chopper_

My hands feebly play with the strap of Eliza's green-cloth Royal Marine bag, but I don't see it or them, I just seem to see straight through them and the floor, down into nothingness. Today is the day Eliza leaves...the day I begin living alone in this hell-hole, and yet another woman takes a step out of my life. Her chopper is due in a few moments, and I have a million things to say to her, but I haven't spoken a word of them; not a word all day, hardly. Eliza just lays in waiting on her wheeled-stretcher cart, her soft hair blowing lazily across her bandaged shoulders and her left eye fully uncovered, reminding me of a female pirate I saw once in a film. She seems eager, yet at the same time, upset. I'm happy for her, though I wish she wasn't leaving me here.

"My chopper's due in a few minutes." She says quietly, trying to make conversation.

My eyes don't lift from my hands as I nod. "I know."

"You have my e-mail and fax numbers, right?"

I nod again. "Mhm."

"And I have yours?"

"I put them in your bag before we came out here to wait."

I feel her bandaged palm cup my cheek, and I lean into it, pressing a heavy kiss into her hand.

"You haven't spoken much." She sighes. "I'm leaving in a few minutes."

The disappointment in her voice forces me to look up at her, look at the torn, upset feelings in her eyes. "I'm sorry...I don't say much when I'm upset."

"You don't say much at all." She smiles feebly, stroking my stubbly cheek.

"Violence does things to you." I sigh. "And I'm sorry...I really am happy for you."

Her smile brightens a little. "I know you are; you're that kind of man. I just wish this were a happier occasion."

"This is a happy occasion. I'm happy for you, and you're happy. We're all happy campers."

"No, it's not completely happy." She murmurs.

Both of our hearts fall at the sound of chopper blades cutting through the air, drawing closer and closer, pulling us further and further apart, though we sit right next to each other.

"Time to go, Miss." A nurse says from nearby, and she comes to wheel Eliza out to the chopper as it lands.

I start to grab Eliza's bag, only to have it taken from my shoulder. "I'll get that, Sir." A male nurse says from behind me.

Anger rushes to my eyes, and I begin to protest, only feel Eliza's hand in the cradle of my arm. I nod at him, and turn to face her. "I guess this is it, then?" I say, barely above a whisper, wondering if she heard it above the whoosh of the blades.

"We'll be seeing more of each other soon." She says soothingly. "Just a matter of days, really; it's only one more week for you, here."

"But it'll be hell without you." I have to work hard for her to not hear the lump in my throat, and I can feel my eyes burning red with tears.

"We need to go, Miss." The nurse prompts.

"Just one week of hell, Jerry, and then you can see me again. Will you keep that in mind?"

I nod, unable to speak.

"Be good for me, please."

I keep my back turned as the wheeled stretcher moves away, Eliza's soft fingers sliding quickly from my arm, away from my reach. I stand and contemplate whether I should go in the building and hide, or turn and watch her leave. Either one sounds hard, resulting in my just standing here. I begin to take a step toward the building, only to stop and turn when I hear the chopper door open. My feet carry me at a sprint to the side of Eliza's stretcher, and before I have a moment to do anything else, I kiss her. I kiss her beautiful mouth with as much passion and emotion as I can muster, send her intimate, caring messages with my tongue. She responds just as fervently before she's ripped helplessly away from me and put into the chopper, her hand gripping mine almost desperately until she can't reach me anymore.

I'm not even able to give her one last glance before I'm ripped away as well, someone shouting harshly for me to get away from the chopper as it takes off. I don't even bother to try to gain my feet as I'm dragged back to the hospital recovery wing, too broken and angry to care. I'm deposited on my bed gently, where I curl up in a ball and weep.

* * *

_Anonymous POV_

There is a mouse somewhere within the room; I can hear it squeaking and scampering around for the rodent it is. I sit still on one of the two beds, biding my time for it to come near as I look for something to watch on the tellie...which is a pointless task. It is only a task to occupy me, however, as I wait for my prey to draw near.

From outside, I can hear a card being inserted into the electronic lock, before my tall, black-haired companion enters the room. "Ev'nin, Boss." He says with a rotten-toothed grin, tossing a black bottle of beer at me.

I reach up and snatch it out of the air, slamming and breaking its top against the wall, rather than waiting for a bottle opener. "Did you find our copper friend?" The beer pours down my throat quickly, burning for a moment before calming and warming my belly.

"Yeah, I found him. He was actually sitting on the sidewalk with his wife; they didn't look too happy, either." He smirks, and chuckles. "I used my rough accent on him."

"Why did it take you so long to get this information to me?" I ask impatiently, brushing a sweaty brown strand from my face.

"Well...keep in mind, Sir, that we're out pretty far from his side of the woods...the other side of the woods, in fact, and the town is just crawlin' with police. I had to bide my time, and obviously I stopped and got us a few drinks."

"How old is this information?"

"Last night."

"It took you from last night to get to this side of town?"

My black-haired colleague takes a step back. "Now, hold on. We're on the down-low, remember? You told me not to be seen, and-"

"It doesn't take eight hours to get to the other side of town without being seen." I growl. "What did his house look like?"

"One story. No alarm system, except for two dogs in the back; I can dispose of those pretty easily though, Sir."

"Spare the animals if you can...we don't want this to be messier than it has to be."

I hear a certain scratching from beside my bed, and slam my beer bottle down to the floor, killing the little brown mouse right in its tracks.

**Okay, I hope this chapter made sense. I guess this was a filler more than anything, so hopefully it was okay. I apologize for the long wait, so I made it extra long for you. I'm having trouble keeping interested enough to keep myself motivated. I don't get to see new episodes until they come out to dvd in the States, which takes a while, as you can imagine, and then when I get them, it's usually only four episodes in a set. I'm not going to give up on this story, but updates may take a while, literally depending on my mood, Lol. Again, I apologize, and hopefully I'll have the next chapter out much faster. I appreciate everyone's support, and I hope that you continue to read and review. Thank you, and don't forget to review! Happy New Year, everyone!**


	7. The Row

**I do not own Midsomer Murders; I only own the characters that I made up.**

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_One Week After Eliza's Departure_

_London/Heathrow Airport_

_Jerry's POV_

It feels good to finally be able to walk away from that confined space and stretch my legs. Eleven hours on a plane has a tendency to wear on you, along with the jet-lag. I don't mind having to walk through the crowds of people after the trip; instead, I enjoy the feeling of freedom, of being able to go where I want when I want, to eat what I want to eat instead of being stuck on some military diet. All around me I hear greetings, see families reunite. A warmth seems to hit me in the chest and spread through my body at these things...these things being the first bit of happiness I've really felt since...since the last time I'd been able to hold Eliza.

Among all of the greetings and chatter, I hear someone scream my name, then in the next moment I feel two bodies collide with mine, nearly sending me off my feet and onto my bum. It takes me a moment to process that my mother has launched herself into my arms(yes, quite literally)and my father has attacked me from the back. They laugh loudly, a sound that seems foreign to my ears(the reason why I was delayed in joining them), before wincing slightly.

"Wounds...still...sore." I manage to get out at length, not because of the pain, but because their holds on me are so strong, making it difficult for me to breathe.

Their holds ease a little, and soon mum is the only one holding me, allowing me to properly embrace her back.

"Oh, Jerry...It's so good to see you!" My mother says, pulling back just enough to look me in the face; there are tears in her eyes as she beams with pride, one of them slipping slowly down her face. "And you've gotten so thin! So muscular!" She flattens one of her hands on my stomach, feeling the muscles through my black t-shirt.

I wipe the tear from her cheek and chuckle as I hug her again. "Good to see you, too, Mum. Good to see a doctor with a kind face."

I barely have time to release her after a final squeeze before I'm yanked up roughly against my father's chest, and patted on the back vigorously. "Wounds; remember the wounds." I wheeze.

He pats me again, and places me back on my feet. "I'm so proud of you." He beams.

"Yeah." I murmur, rubbing my neck. The sight of my platoon being blown to bits flashes through my mind, along with Eliza stretched out like a mummy in crisp white bandages. Proud. He says he's proud of me.

"Don't be bashful." Mum says as she tries to stop the cascade of tears, "You're our own war hero!"

I snort and look at the floor. "I'm no hero. I worked just as hard as the next man...or woman, or whatever. They worked as hard as I did."

Dad drapes his arm around my shoulders and begins walking. "Yes, well, that's not what we heard."

Mum attaches herself to my arm as we leave the crowd of people. "Yes, the letter we got about your honorable discharge praised you quite a lot."

I cast my eyes up at the luggage claim sign as we pass under it. I don't want them to adore me...I just want to enjoy their physical beings on either side of me. "Hey...where is everyone?" I ask after a moment. "April and the others?"

"At home." Dad says simply. "They think we've gone on a trip to ourselves; they don't even know you're back in England."

We fall silent, and I smile. They would pull something like that.

"So, speaking of others," Mum says, a sly look coming into her eyes. "Did you meet anyone while you were away?"

I arch my brows as the baggage begin their parade. "Yeah, I met a lot of people while I was away; one of them tried to blow me up."

Mum swats my arm lightly, seeming to remember my tender wounds at the last possible moment. "You know what I mean! You mentioned a girl in your letters."

I wink at dad, then smile gently at mum as a sigh passes my lips. "Yeeeeaah...I met a girl."

"Go on!" She presses. "What's her name? What's she like? Will we see her any time soon?"

Dad chuckles beside me. "Don't pester him, Cora, dear."

Another snort passes my lips as I check the tag on a passing Royal Marines bag, then straighten up again when I find that it's not mine. "Her name's Eliza Redberry. You'll get to meet her very soon, and...she's a bit...different." I say quietly. "She lives here in London, and I'd like to go see her." I give them both somber glances, then look back to the baggage. "I promised her I would."

"Okay." Mum says slowly. "That's fine. What do you mean by...different?"

I don't bother to look any of them in the eyes as I grab my bag. "You'll see."

* * *

Eliza's home is a cozy little house just on the outside of the London city limits. A two-story red-brick house with white window panes, and a large fenced-in back yard. The gray gravel crunches beneath my boot-covered feet, alerting anyone of my approaching presence, and mum and dad's. An orange cat hisses and spooks at my unintended noise, and finally runs off when I knock on the door.

A tall, older man answers the door shortly after, staring at me with nervous gray eyes as he sweeps his messy silver hair out of his face.

I offer him my friendliest smile, and nod at him. "Does Eliza Redberry live here?" I ask.

The older man narrows his eyes, rubbing his stubbly chin with a surprisingly smooth hand. "Who's asking?" He asks in a dark tone, glaring at me, then at mum and dad over my shoulder.

I stick my hand out in offering. "Lieutenant Jerry Williamson, of Her Majesty's Royal Marines. I served with your daughter. She was a fine Marine, and," I smile gently, imagining her, "She was the only thing that kept me sane while we were in that horrid military hospital."

The man's eyes seem to lighten at the mention of my name, and he stands up a bit straighter while he shakes my hand. "So...you're him? You're the one? My daughter speaks very highly of you...she claims that you saved her life."

I chuckle faintly at the man's vigorous handshake, and smile warmly. "Well...I believe she saved my life more than I did hers, Sir. She really brightened things up around that place."

The man's eyes just seem to glaze over as he looks at me, as though I've just told him he'd never have to pay another bill again. "Yes, yes of course. She'll be excited to see you. Come in, come in lad! Can I get you anything? She's in the living room, by the way. Eliza!" He calls, leading me in by the hand, having not released it from the handshake.

"Yes?"

"You have visitors!" He says cheerfully.

Eliza lays in what appears to be one of those beds that pulls right out from the couch, only the mattress is much thicker and more comfortable than the average couch bed, covered in a fresh set of bandages. An IV is stuck in her left wrist, attached to a drip-bag of water. A tellie remote lies within her right hand, which she seems to lose any strength in when she sees me.

I grin at her, and suddenly it's like she's the only person in the room, though I know we're not alone. My feet carry me as quickly as they can without stumbling in the small room, and in the next moment, I find myself sitting on the edge of the mattress, holding her hand. "You look surprised." I practically laugh.

"I...I w-...I was expecting a phone call, or a fax," She stutters, "B-...But not this!"

I can't help myself. I kiss her full on the mouth, then kiss her hand before I look at mum and dad. "Mum, Dad, meet my fiancée.

* * *

_Midsomer_

_Ben's Day Off_

_Ben's POV_

_"It's Peterson...it's got to be! He was seen near the murder scene barely five minutes after, and it wasn't an accident, or happenstance." _I put my notes down and take a sip of water. If this case isn't ended soon, I do believe Barnaby is going to drive me mad with it. _"It's Peterson." _I decide. _"Now I just need to write out a request for a search warrant, and-" _Something smooth and cool touches the back of my neck, sending my thoughts off their tracks, and I jump slightly in my seat. "I'm working." I murmur after a moment of realizing I've felt that smooth and cool surface on my neck before.

Jess chuckles softly against my left ear. "I know."

"Sooo..." I say, removing her hand from my chest, "I need to finish."

"How far along are you?" She rests her chin heavily on my shoulder, peering at my work.

"Writing out a request for a search warrant." I sigh. "I lost my card...I never lose my card."

"Well, then, you're practically done." She smiles, and presses her lips against my neck again, her hands wandering back to my chest.

"No, no!" I wiggle out of her arms and away from the desk. "I've got to get this finished; Barnaby's gonna drive me away if we don't finish soon."

My wife takes in a deep breath, and reaches for my hands. "Ben...it's your day off. Can't you wrap this up tomorrow?"

She's doing it. She's doing it again! Giving me that look...that sad-puppy-that's-been-kicked-one-too-many-times look. "Stop it." I grumble.

Her brows furrow. "Stop what? What am I doing?"

"Looking at me!" I cry. "Stop it.!"

My wife just stares at me, motionless, like I've just slapped her. Her brows twitch, and her lower lip quivers, and for a moment I wonder if I've said something that's upset her without knowing I've said it. I begin to reach for her, to apologize, when a spout of laughter outbursts from her lips. Her face turns red, and she jsut points at me and laughs, trying and failing to speak.

I cross my arms and glare, despite knowing this will make her laguhter worse. "I don't have time for this, Jess." I grumble.

She tries to stop her laughter(though not very hard, I might add), which dies out after a few moments and deep breaths. "That's the most absurd thing I've heard you say in five years of marriage." She smiles, her face still red.

I remain motionless, glare still in use.

Her smile falls, and she reaches for me. "Ben, what's _wrong _with you? You're always cheerful, always making jokes...now you just sit around and stare at notes and legal papers. Here lately I've felt like I'm married to some cold law assistant! You won't love me, you won't play with Toby, you haven't spoken to Blake since yesterday's lunch. What's gotten into you?!"

Oh joy. Our first real row of the year. "_No _on is taking me seriously! I've tried to sit you down, and others, tried to express my concern, tried to get information and evidence to defend myself in court, and people just laugh and say it's going to be okay. Well here's a news flash, _darling_, it's _not _going to be okay! Everything we've got, Jess, is just gonna go to waste if we don't find out who we're fighting, and what to fight with!"

My head is pounding with an on-coming headache. I can't hear anything but the blood rushing in my ears, and my face and neck feel hot with my wild pulse. I know I'm angrier than I've ever been, but I do nothing to calm myself. My voice is a growl, cracked from anger or sadness. Which one? I couldn't tell you if you threatened me. "You just laugh at me, like everyone else, like I'm some sort of joke. Is that what I am? Is there something I don't know about myself that's funny?"

Jess swallows loudly, staring at me from the tops of her hands covering her jaw, mouth, and nose. It's the first time I've screamed at her in a year, and the pain is apparent in her eyes. Her head shakes as she walks for the door, pausing only to say one thing. "When Ben Jones is back, I'll attempt to speak with him." She doesn't even glance at me as she passes through the doorway, and closes the door.

Not knowing what else to do in my anger(and horrid feelings for what I've just done to my wife), I kick something. That something just happens to be the leg of the wood-frame bed, and it just happens to send a cracking sound through the room, and myself to the floor. I just lay and clasp my hands over my throbbing right middle toe, and hold in the scream I so badly want to release.

* * *

_Anonymous_

_Outside of Ben's Home_

I've heard every word that's taken place. _Every _word...all the way from outside, on the street, in the car The woman, the one with light brown hair storms out of the house and to the swing on the front porch, crying. "Drive on; I've seen and heard what I wanted to." I smirk.

My black-haired companion smiles as he makes the loop, driving us out to the road, then later to the highway, not bothering with the headlights until we're driving away at a decent speed. "You really have him shaken up. You didn't even have to do anything!"

I roll down my window, allowing the cool wind to blow my hair out of my eyes. "I've told you, I read his record...hacked into his police files and reports. I knew he wouldn't be a hard one to crack."

"So...when are we gonna do it?" He asks eagerly. "When do I get to finish him?"

I wave a hand dismissively, staring at the black road before us. "We won't worry with that until _after _I've ruined him in court; _then _you can have your fun."

"What are we gonna do?! What are we gonna do?!" He asks, thoroughly excited now.

"Just, calm down, Leon. I have to think of something, first. Don't worry about it."

"Fight." He murmurs to himself. "Fight, fight, fight."

**Surprise! I didn't think I'd have this out so quickly. I hope you enjoy it, and I hope it's not rubbish...because it feels like it. I hope you say otherwise, Lol! Please read and review! Thank you!**


	8. Not Alone

**I do not own Midsomer Murders; I only own the characters I made up.**

* * *

_The Night of Jerry's Return_

_Jerry's POV_

The back yard is smaller than I remember. I remember it being extremely green, but not small. The shed tucked in the upper right corner makes it appear smaller, too. Speaking of the shed...it needs to be painted. I squint at it in the dimness of the patio light and cock my head. Yes, it most definitely needs to be painted. I notice these things because I simply have nothing else to do. I've eaten as much as I possibly can, during both lunch and dinner, I've been climbed upon, hugged to mush and talked to much by my three siblings, my vedo games no longer catch my interest and I'm simply too tired to drive my little black car, of which dad has kept in top condition while I've been away. Now I just sit, shirtless, on the back patio, staring at the stars, the shed, and anything else my eyes come across.

"Aren't you cold, Jerry?" Mum asks, pulling a jacket tight around her small frame as she steps out onto the patio. She hands me a green bottle, and takes a seat in the next available lawn chair. "It's quite nippy out here; how can you stand be shirtless?"

I smile tiredly, partially because I realize she's handed me a bottle of beer, and nod. "This is nothing compared to where I've been...it feels great." The fizzy liquid burns my throat, warming me all the way to my stomach. I haven't had alcohol in a while, and the first taste is a bit of a shock before it actually becomes enjoyable. I lean back and close my eyes as my body becomes warmer with each sip.

Mum watches me with mild interest, taking in my battle scars and still bandage-covered wounds. I can tell they pain her, but she doesn't voice it. She simply scoots closer, and places her head gently onto my shoulder. My only form of acknowledgement is to put my arm around her, allowing her to instead rest her head on my scarred, shaven chest.

"We worried about you...your dad and I." She murmurs.

I take another swallow of beer, then set the bottle down on the small wire-framed table in front of us. "I worried about the two of you, honestly." I smile gently, meeting her eyes. "I didn't know how the two of you would respond to the letter about my honorable discharge."

"We panicked, at first." She says somberly, "Then there were the tears. Mike did very well with it, to be honest; I was the one that did most of the crying. He did get upset," She says quickly, "But, he did all of his crying away from me...and your brother and sisters. We'd never see him get upset...but we could tell he'd had a good cry whenever he walked into the room. He looked so drained for a while, so...I don't know. We didn't get much sleep, to put it one way. April drove down from medical school as soon as she got our news. None of us knew how badly you were hurt...we only knew that the letter said you were badly wounded, and that you would be returning home as soon as you were well enough to make the long flight back."

I take her words in with a few nods, as though I'm silently saying yes to a question. "I figured as much." I say in a near whisper, "I'm sorry you went through that. I tried to get through to you...but because of the constant enemy fire near the hospital, our phone and Internet lines were down quite a lot. I wanted to send you a letter, but I figured it wouldn't have gotten here until around the time you picked me up from the airport."

Mum raises her head a little, and gives me a feeble smile. "Don't...Don't you dare apologize to me. There was nothing you could do, no way to get word to us. What's important is that you're here, alive."

I return her smile, and lean back again. "It's great to be back home...you've no idea."

"Jerry?"

"Hmm?" I hum, my eyes now closed.

"Jerry...may I look at your scars?"

I smirk, and sit up as my eyes open again. "I _knew _you were going to ask me that question very soon."

She looks at me innocently. "I'm a doctor...I'm supposed to be curious about battle scars. Sorry." She smiles.

"No, no, it's fine; there's nothing else to do, really; go ahead."

She only nods as I stand up, taking interest already in the ruined field of skin. One particular scar catches her interest quickly, one that stretches jaggedly between my nipples, angled oddly so that it looks like a diagonal slash. It starts from just above my heart, and fades out on top of the right side of my ribs. Mum shudders at being able to see it clearly, instead of from the angle she'd first seen it at.

"Touch it." I say gently. "It doesn't bother me much anymore...it's almost healed."

She reaches out slowly, brushing it first with her fingertips before following it down my torso. Another wound catches her interest mid-way of my ribs and hip, a mutilated-looking triangle indented in my side. She touches it, too, and shakes her head. "They did a terrible job patching this one up. Wh-...What happened?"

"Shrapnel." I murmur. "From...From the accident that had me discharged."

Mum pauses and flicks her gaze to mine. "I'm sorry." She says softly, "I didn't realize-"

"It's okay." I smile. "I need to deal with it sometime."

"War memories aren't easy to deal with." She comforts. "I'll stop."

"No," I say, motioning to a bandaged area on my right thigh, "There's quite a few shrapnel wounds that I want you to look at under there. I think the surgeons did a horrid job patching them up; they're still quite tender, even after two weeks in hospital."

Mum smiles and nods, noticeably glad that I'm being so patient and forgiving. She leads me into the house and to the loo, where she motions to the toilet. "Have a seat."

I quirk a brow at her. "Really, Mum? Have a seat? That's the best you could come up with?"

She snickers as she pulls the tackle-box-looking medical kit from beneath the lavatory. "What? All I said was have a seat. I didn't mean it had to be on the toilet."

"Sure, sure." I put the lid down and pull my shorts leg up a bit more, stretching my right leg out so that my heal rests on the edge of the bath tub. "It's not _too _bad," I say as she starts pulling the bandages away, "But I think a better job could've been done."

Mum pulls the last of the bandages away and frowns. "These people passed medical school?"

I smile. "Well...they did their best."

"They used _thread _to stitch you up."

"They ran out of supplies."

"_Thread._" She says distastefully. "That's old fashioned. This isn't the eighteenth century, you know."

"I know." I say somberly. "But keep in mind that they _did _save my life, messy job or not."

"Yeah," She sighs, " I know. But you probably still have some shrapnel in there." She says quickly, her brows furrowing again in annoyance, "I want you to come to my office tomorrow after closing hours; I'll do an x-ray, and if needed, we'll under go surgery. My treat." She smiles.

I roll my eyes. "Joy, joy..._more _surgery."

"I can guarantee it." She sighs again, patting my knee. "See all this swelling, here? That's not from your prior surgery, or swelling; there's still something under the skin, burrowed into the muscles. There's already infection, and it's just going to get worse if we don't get it out soon. You could lose your leg over this, Jerry."

"You can tell all of that by looking at my skin?" My brows arch.

"They train you to look for that sort of stuff when you're in med school." She grabs a roll of gauze and bandages. "Want me to cover it up?"

"Yea." I say quietly, "I don't think the siblings should see this until it's healed."

She just nods, and gets to work. "So...Eliza...She seems very nice."

"Yeah," I smile, "That she is."

"How long have you been...'dating' her?"

"Well," I shift my weight, "We've known each other for the five years we were in the service. We didn't really start taking interest until about a year ago. Why?"

"No reason. She seemed a bit...timid."

"She was blown up." I say with a wince, "It's a miracle she made it out with all four limbs."

Again, mum just nods. "When are you going to see her again?"

I shrug. "I dunno. This weekend, most likely. She wants to discuss wedding plans."

Mum looks up at me from beneath her brows, not moving her head with the glance. "Oh."

I quirk my brows. "What?"

She hesitates, deciding to cut the bandage and pin the end down before answering. "She's awfully wounded, Jerry." Her voice is soft, gentle s though she's breaking bad news to me. "It's a wonder she's made it this far."

I swallow hard, and decide to look at the white linolium of the floor tiles. "I know."

Mum's hand rubs soothing circles atop the bandages. "Are you sure you want to go through with marriage...knowing she may not make it?"

I nod slowly, and look back to her. "I love her...I love her despite her handicap. I promised I would marry her. Besides...it's 'till death do we part. I want nothing more than to make her happy...before...before..." Silence. I can't say anymore.

Mum smiles sympathetically, a gentle, proud smile, and pats my leg. "I'm proud of you. You're a good man, Jerry."

I return her smile, slowly, and nod. "Yeah...I hope so."

* * *

_Ben's Final Day Off_

_Jess's POV_

Yesterday still weighs heavily on my mind as I ring the doorbell to the Barnaby residence. It's not every day (thank God!) that I wake up with the entire bed to myself, with no hint of Ben, his nightclothes, or the smell of his cologne anywhere in the room. I found him asleep on the couch this morning, one of his toes mysteriously purple and black(I found it was broken upon further examination). Images of my kissing him on the forehead before leaving flash vividly through my mind as someone opens the door.

"Hello, Jess!" Mrs. Barnaby says in a cheerful voice, beckoning me in with a grin.

"I'm sorry to be a bother-"

"Not at all." She assures. "Tom's in the living room, waiting for you."

Mr. Barnaby is sitting on the couch, dressed simply in a white-collared shirt, covered by a dark-blue sweater, and a pair of simple slacks and leather shoes, watching tellie. He flips it off upon seeing me enter the room, and smiles. "Hello, Jess. There was something you wished to speak to me about?" He says, sitting up straighter as I take the chair diagonally left of him.

"Yes, Sir. I really appreciate this, Mr. Barnaby...I've needed to get this cleared for a while." I say, pulling out that dreaded sheet of thick, cream-colored paper.

Barnaby puts on his glasses, looking fondly at it. "It's nothing. What's the problem?"

"What do you make of this? Do you think it's something to worry about?"

He reviews the paper for a moment, then shakes his head. "Ah. Jones showed me this. No, I don't think it's anything to worry about. Not that you shouldn't be concerned, but I wouldn't get upset over it."

I shake my head, and put the letter back in my purse; my taffy-colored leather purse, to be exact.

"Is there a problem?" Barnaby asks, his tone a little softer.

"Ben." I say after a moment. "He's...he's not being himself; hasn't been since he got this stupid letter."

Barnaby just smiles, and nods. "He's just a bit nervous about the court case, I'd guess. Surely you can calm him?"

I shake my head slowly. "No, Mr. Barnaby. No one's been able to convince him that he's got nothing to worry about. He's not eating, he's losing sleep, he's..." I close my eyes briefly, pinching the bridge of my nose before looking at him again. "He's losing his temper. He shouted at me, Mr. Barnaby. He _never _shouts at me. Something is very wrong with him...and no one knows what to do!" I allow my head to fall into my hands, fighting the tears stinging my eyes.

"You say this started when he got the letter?" Barnaby's voice is soft now, gentle, almost, realizing finally how upset I am.

"Yes." I whisper. "His moods and attitude have been building up ever since; he finally let it all out on me last night. He was trying to finish up a case with his notes and such, and I'm afraid I disturbed him. He became very angry and began shouting. I think he even kicked something after I left the room."

Barnaby sits up a little straighter, furrowing his brows. "He kicked something?"

"Yeah, I think so. I noticed this morning that one of his toes was purple; I'm sorry to say it's broken."

Barnaby slouches again, looking to something a little off to the side. "He br-...This is serious." His tone sounds perplexed as he takes his glasses off.

"Yes, it is." I say softly, "And I would like for you to speak to him, you and me, sometime very soon. _Someone _needs to calm him down, and I'm afraid I'm going to need help...I don't think he'd want anyone but you and me doing this for him."

"Right." He says, his tone still puzzled. "Yes. How does tomorrow sound? After work? If he can walk, that is."

I nod, a thankful smile coming to my lips. "Yes, yes, Mr. Barnaby! Yes, that would be wonderful."

Barnaby smiles as well, but I can tell that he's still unsettled.

* * *

_The Same Day_

_Ben's POV_

The couch is _not _a comfortable thing to sleep on. Certainly, comfortable to sit, or lay on, but not to sleep on. I wake up with a sore back, the first thing I take note of when my eyes open for the first time of the day. The sun shines brightly in my eyes, telling me I've slept more into the day than usual. I sit up, jerking my right foot up with a sharp intake of breath. My right middle toe is hurting like never before, and to my horror, it's turned black, with little bits of purple.

"It's broken." A calm voice says from behind me.

I turn around with a start, finding Blake leaning against the kitchen bar, sipping a cup of coffee.

"Broken?" I murmur.

"Yup." She says, quirking a brow at me. "When one gets angry, you know, one shouldn't kick something; it never helps."

"How do you know I broke it when I was angry?" I ask. "Maybe I stumbled."

"That must've been one hell of a stumble, then." She says sarcastically, taking another sip of coffee. "Besides...the whole neighborhood knew you were angry last night." She says softly.

I look down, ashamed. "You heard everything, then."

"Indeed."

My gaze snaps to Blake's again upon hearing the coldness in it. What's set her off? Surely after everything she heard...she'd understand? Or at least...partially understand what I'm going through. "I'm sorry you had to hear that." I murmur.

"I'm sorry Toby had to hear that." She says, her tone still frosty.

Toby. Oh, God. I'd forgotten... I must have scared him. He must not want to get anywhere near his Uncle Ben now. Oh... "I'm _so _sorry." I whisper, turning back around, putting my head in my hands. How could I have screwed up so _badly_?

"I forgive you, Ben." Her voice is closer. The couch shifts, and I can clearly hear her sipping her coffee, right next to me. "But, it's not me that you should be apologizing to."

I look up at her, pleading. "What do I do?"

For a few moments her gaze is still frosty, drinking in my eyes, my voice, then...she offers me the coffee she's been drinking from. "You need this more than I do. Yes, take it; the caffeine will help."

I take a few sips, but I'm not that thirsty; I'm still too upset. I put the mug down, and look at her again, allowing her to look openly at my face, hiding nothing from her. "What do I do?" I plead, "How do I fix this?"

She remains quiet. A million thoughts are running through her mind, I can tell, I can hear the gears turning ever so smoothly in her head, but she says nothing. I begin to give up hope on recieving her help. I've screwed up so badly that even my own daughter, the child I raised for that too-brief time period, doesn't want to help me. I look down again, sighing.

"Ben," Her tone isn't frosty this time, it's gentle...along with her hand placed so lightly on my forearm. "Ben, if you're going to fight someone, don't fight your family. What we need to be doing is building up for the case, gathering any evidence we can to aid you. We need to gather all the allies we can...and I can tell you, Ben, your most important ally is going to be your wife. The first thing you need to do...is make up with your wife, Ben."

Another cool hand cups my chin, forcing me gently to look up into those familiar blue eyes. "How do you know all this?" She's an adult now, I can tell, but every time I look into those eyes...I can't help but see that frightened child that I first brought into my home...years ago.

"I just know." She says gently. "I just know...that if I was defending myself in court, I would want my family there for every moment. It would be very difficult for me if I didn't know that I had my son's full support, or yours, or Jess's. You won't be able to defend yourself properly if you're still heartbroken in court."

"But," I whisper, "I hurt her-"

"She'll forgive you." Though she's whispering, there's a passion in her voice...a passion that makes me feel loads better. "She loves you, Ben; she'll forgive you. You asked me what you should do. First things first, make up with your wife. Next, gather your wits, evidence, and allies. I told you, I've got your back. If they go after you, they'll have to go after me, too; we're in this together."

I hug her. Without warning or notion, I put my arms around her waist, and lean down in a silent form of thank you.

Blake cradles my head in her arms, on her chest, placing lingering, distanced kisses in my hair. "We're in this together." She whispers. "Together."

**Once again, I hope this was not rubbish. Please review. Though I am very greatful for the reviews I've been getting(and I am VERY greatful for them), the lack of them is getting very discouraging. I know you're out there, I know you're reading, so please, take two minutes to leave a review. Please? Thank you.**


	9. Forgive

**I do not own Midsomer Murders, I only own the characters I made up.**

* * *

_Ben's POV_

"I saw your wife yesterday."

_...Arrest was made by Gale Stephens, 34, WPC of Causton Police. The stalker, Jack Johnson, was caught by Stephens after neighbors thought they saw a man creeping in their back yard, and called the police..._

I don't bother finishing the report, fearing another paper wad will hit me in the face like the last time I didn't give the boss my direct attention quickly enough. "Oh?" I mumble.

"Mhm, she came for a visit."

"Did she?" He's done it. Always using the smallest bit of information possible to lure me in. "When did you say that was?"

"Yesterday."

I fight the urge to roll my eyes. "What for?"

"Oh, nothing much." Barnaby opens one of the desk drawers to his right, and motions for me to come over once he finds what he's looking for. I come, and he holds a piece of paper in front of my face. "Know what this is?" His tone is neutral, despite his somber expression.

"The warning that the last living family member of a man I killed is going to press charges against me in...two weeks...and sew me for all my worth, sir."

"Mhm." He nods. "She told me you've been a little more than uneasy about this...little piece of paper."

I close my eyes, slowly, and breathe a little heavier than usual through my nose. "Jess..." I mumble. Why would she take our business to someone else? "Maybe a little, sir-"

"You don't break your toe over something..._little_, as you call it, Jones."

"Sir, it's-"

"Ah ah! Let me finish, please." He lowers the paper, looking directly into my eyes. "Stop whining, stop worrying. All we have to do is gather evidence, witnesses, and people with high oppinions of you-"

"But, sir,-"

"-To win this case, Jones, because you _are _going to win it. Stop worrying, stop it, it's affecting your work, therefore affecting me, therefore effecting efficiency in getting our latest case solved.-"

"But-"

"Jones." His tone is stern. A tone he doesn't use with me unless he's irritated about something.

"Right. I'll stop interrupting."

He nods, once. "Good. I'm not to here anymore worrying, I'm not to see you stumbling in here with lack of sleep, I'm not to see your wife coming to me worried sick about you. You're going to stop this nonsense immediately, and that's an order."

I nod, also once. "Yes, sir. But, sir,-"

"Get back to work."

"S-"

"That's an order." His face is serious, however...his tone is...sing-song.

I can't help it. I can't. I smile. I smile, and nod. "Yes, sir."

* * *

_The Night Prior_

"Are you sure this will work?"

"Positive."

"What if it doesn't?"

"It will."

"No, this is stupid, along with me. It won't work."

"Benjamin Jones, it's going to work, and that's final."

I look down at Blake with a skeptical expression, and-

"What did I say about negative expressions and thoughts, Ben? Remember the punishment I said I was going to issue you if you kept this up?" She fixes me with a pointed stare.

I jerk my head back a bit, unbelieving. "You wouldn't-"

"I would so! Look me good in the eyes, Ben."

I do. "You...You would." I say slowly, belief sinking in with slight sting.

She smiles, a playful, yet smug smile, and nods. "Yes, I would. Now, quit squirming."

"It hurts."

"You're such a baby, I haven't even tightened it yet."

"If you tighten it, I won't be able to breathe!"

An exaggerated sigh, a roll of the eyes. "Men. You men are so childish. Sit _still _and let me do my magic."

I swallow, as much as my bow tie will allow, and still myself, reluctantly, while she unties it and ties it again. "I really don't know if this will work...I hurt her pretty bad, you know, you heard what I said."

Blake sighes, a softer, more patient sigh, and cups my cheeks with a smile. "You look dashing, Ben," She says softly. "The dinner is great, and I haven't met a person yet that hasn't been seduced by this trick; She's going to love it."

_Half an Hour Later..._

It's been a long day. A _really _long day...and I haven't spoken to my husband since our row. Whether he's Ben again, or that...that _monster_, I have no idea. Something inside me doesn't _want _to know.... yet...

Ugh, I shake my head, and take my black high-heels off as I ascend the concrete walk to the porch. It's not like I _don't _want to see him. I'd love to see him. But...whether he wants to have anything to do with me after turning me away so harshly...

The house is dark when I enter. I begin to reach for the light switch when a large, callused hand takes hold of my wrist out of the darkness, startling me.

"Sorry, didn't mean to startle you. Leave the lights off."

I quirk my brows; the door shuts softly behind me. "Ben?"

"Yeah. Come on, follow me."

An arm wraps around my waist, while the hand that has my wrist slides up to entwine with my fingers. "Ben, what's going on? Has the power gone out?"

Ben remains silent, leading me through the house as though he has night vision. Perhaps he does. I can't see, he could be dressed in a chicken suit for all I know.

The arms and hands leave my body. "Stand right here, don't move."

The footsteps go a few feet ahead of me, then, the sound of a match being lit. Ben's face is illuminated instantly, revealing his nerves as he lights three candles, which illuminates the dinner table, covered in a white table cloth...red rose petals strewn across it, and two china dishes, pregnant with duck and vegetables. Also illuminated...Ben in a tux, a red rost tucked into his left lapel.

"Can you forgive a stupid man?" He murmurs.

* * *

_Jerry's POV, Present Day_

London traffic is terrible. I can't remember a time it hasn't been...or a time that this stretch of highway hasn't been under construction. But, I'm willing to put up with it. Good things are worth waiting for, and seeing Eliza is certainly a good thing. I smile. She could hardly wait for me to come, excited about wedding plan this, and wedding plan that.

The sky, as usual in this area of England, is gray, with a touch of cold. I sit and ponder, trying to think of a time I've ever seen London under a blue sky. A few times. I've seen it a few times cloudless...but still rarely. I realize I'm just sitting there, staring at it when someone honks as traffic begins moving. I shift the car into drive, and put down a lead foot.

_She's up to something, certainly, _I think, shuffling through my keys until I find the proper one, grinning as the gravel crunches beneath my feet. Yes, she certainly is. Granted, she's always glad to see me, but this time...her voice on the phone...I can hardly get the key into the lock out of excitement, presenting a handful of roses as I barge into the house.

"Surprise!"

"Not really, the whole neighborhood heard you unlock the door." Eliza smiles at me from her inclined position on the pull-out bed of the couch, a mess of letters and papers strewn across her lap and the mattress. "They're beautiful, by the way, and oh! You put them in a vase already! Just set them in the center of the dinner table, they'll look lovely there."

"Yes, mum, orders received and understood." A goofy grin creeps onto my lips; I feel like a teenager again. "What've we got to do today?" I ask, doing as I'm told before joining her on the mattress.

"Invitations, fun, fun!" She says sarcastically, before dumping a pile of addresses and envelopes in my lap.

"Hmph." Is all I say, picking up the first envelope, placing an address sticker on it.

Eliza does the same, getting through three in the amount of time that it takes me to get through one. "What took you so long?"

"Traffic, it's bloody awful."

"It's always awful, sweetheart; this is London, and this is where we'll be living, so get used to it." She smiles.

I scoff playfully, putting another sticker on another envelope. "Yes, mum."

We sit quietly, then, putting letters in evelopes, stickers on envelopes, and tossing them to the side, repeat, repeat. However, during all of the sticking and throwing, sticking and throwing, Eliza begins to stiffen. She shakes it off at first, flexing her fingers or waving her hands in the air. This goes on for about half an hour, until she just sits, completely still, not bothering to reach for anymore envelopes.

"You okay?" I ask, setting the stickers aside.

"Back and arms are a little sore, that's all. Don't worry about it, just keep fixing the invitations. You don't mind if I just rest for a bit, do you?" A wince crosses her features; she closes her eyes, still as stone.

"Fine, babe. Sure you're all right? Can I get you anything?"

She smiles as well as she can, and leans back a bit more against the pillows. "I'm fine, luv, I just need to lay still. Keep working, I'll join you as soon as I can."

I do as I'm told, as usual, but within half an hour, Eliza falls asleep. I don't mind, really, but even in her sleep, she appears stiff, worrying me still.


	10. Animal Instincts

**I do not own Midsomer Murders, just the characters I made up. **

**A bit of STRONG LANGAUGE in this chapter. Ye be warned. **

* * *

"Well, that's the last of them, every last thing." I rub my eyes, blurred from exhaustion of hours of reading.

Eliza blinks sleepily up at me, a small, tired smile pulling at her lips. She's slept on and off, her fingers and arms too numb really to help with anything. Now she just lays and stares at me, reaching weakly for my hand. "Thank you, I'm sorry I wasn't much of a help."

I shake my head, offering my own sleepy smile as I meet her hand halfway, cradling her fingers in my palm. "Rubbish, you had half done by the time I got here, I was just doing my share of the work." I lean down and peck her lips, then put the finished pile of invitations on top of the rest of the pile on the couch to my left.

"You're too willing to work, you know that?" She snorts.

I flash her a smirk and lean down slowly, towards her ear, allowing a bit of hot breath to hit her skin. "Oh trust me, my dear, it's a trait that you'll be much appreciative of when you're my new bride on the night of our wedding."

Again, she snorts, swatting my shoulders feebly as I sit up wiggling my eye brows up and down at her. "I don't think I can wait that long."

"Patience is a virtue, my dear. When you're all healed, I'll show you the extent of my affection." I stand to stretch, only to be pulled back down by my jeans.

"What are you doing tonight?" Her voice is soft, a murmur of sorts, curious.

I raise my brows and pooch my lips a bit. "I was going to drive home-"

"At this hour of night? Are you asking for a death wish?"

"I-...Aren't you're parents going to be home soon?"

A wicked smirk tugs at Eliza's lips. "Nope...they're currently in Liverpool, convinced that my nurse is here."

I just stare at her, absorbing her words, her hidden meanings..."Eliza Redberry, you were at home on your own for hours before I got here, deceiving not only me, but your parents as well that you were being watched over?"

She smiles innocently. "It sounded okay in my head..."

I cover my eyes with my left hand, messaging my temples. "Eliza..."

"I just wanted some alone time with you." She says quietly.

I remove my hand; her eyes have taken on the look of a lost puppy, her lips pooched out sadly. I look away. "Don't give me that look."

If possible, her lips pooch out more. "I haven't gotten to be alone with you before, we haven't gotten to react properly since we were in the hospital."

"Eliza..."

"You see the method behind my madness, right?"

I keep my head turned away. "Yeeeeeees, I do."

"Are you angry?"

I look down at the worry in her tone, smiling softly as I wrap my fingers around hers. "You've seen me angry before, Eliza. I'm not angry, I'm just...a little upset that you were alone for all that time." I give her a serious look and wave my finger before her face, feeling more like I'm scolding a child than a grown woman. "And don't you ever, _ever _do that again."

She gives me that smile, that sweet smile when she knows she's off the hook. "Okay."

"Promise?"

"I promise." Then, a little too quickly, "So I guess you're not going home tonight."

I snort. I should've known. "Well I certainly can't leave you here by yourself now, can I?"

She giggles. "Yay!"

I shake my head. "You and your master-mind."

"Lay with me."

"I beg your pardon?"

She raises her eyebrows. "You heard me, get down here."

I rub my eyes again. "Eliza, I can't do that."

"Why? No one's here but you and me, no one will suspect anything."

I shake my head tiredly. Of all the plots..."Your wounds are still healing, Eliza." I stress. "If I sleep in the same bed with you, I'm likely hurt you." I lean down closer to her face, splaying my right hand against the left side of her face. "You don't want me to hurt you, do you? You won't heal if you keep getting hurt." I whisper.

"I can't wait until I'm healed, Jerry." She whispers back. "I've wanted to be with you for so long..."

I close my eyes when her voice cracks. What am I supposed to say to that? How am I supposed to comfort, to explain to someone that I can't make love or even cuddle with them because it could just make everything worse? My voice is tender, broken when I speak. "Eliza...I can't...I can't hurt you...I can't lose you."

She touches, weakly, a cool hand to my cheek, breathing softly against my face. "I understand...but...I need you. I feel so selfish for saying that, but..." Her breath hitches.

I open my eyes as my forehead touches to hers; her eyes are moist. "Ooooooh, Eliza." I breathe.

She stares at me hopefully.

I sit up straight, sigh, and pull my mobile out, setting it beside the pull-out bed. "When my parents get worried about me, I'm sure I'll wake up when they call."

* * *

"Tell me a story."

A small hand grasps the bottom of my snug-fitting tank-top, tugging, stretching it back towards the bed, and the little body in it. I turn and smile, placing myself on the edge of the mattress. "Toby, I just told you a story."

"Well then, tell me another," He says hopefully, "Another adventure!"

I ruffle his hair, eliciting a grumble. "It's late, already-" I turn the table clock toward me, reading its glowing green numbers, "Twenty minutes past your bed time. You'll be grumpy if you don't go to sleep in the next few minutes."

"I don't care, I'm no-" A mighty yawn, "Not tired."

Just like Toby. He doesn't want to go to sleep at night, and then he doesn't want to get up in the morning. I smile the smile that only mothers can display to their children, and smooth his hair. "See there, yawns mean Mr. Sandman is already in the room. I'll you another story tomorrow, I promise."

"But Mum-"

"Shhhh, Toby, go to sleep." I whisper.

"Don't...want..." His eyes begin to droop; he forces them open.

Leaning forward, still with a whisper, "Close your eyes, go to sleep."

I have to coax him a bit more, more whispering, a bit of humming, a bit of belly-rubbing, and his eyes droop shut, his head lolls. I stay on the bed until his breaths even out, his body goes limp. Satisfied, I kiss his forehead, closing the door softly behind me after tip-toeing out.

The house is dark and quiet, nothing but rhythmic breathing and cricket-chirps filling my head; actually, the crickets even sound quiet. My baggy pj pants rustle softly as I find my way in the dark, opting to go to the kitchen for a drink, rather than my bed.

In the kitchen, I stand at the sink, like Ben usually does in the mornings, staring out at his dew-covered lawn, bathing his face in the early peek of sun. Tonight, however, is inexplicably cold, the dew-covered grass looking very much like an inky, haunted ocean. No moon shines, just the irritated, pale glow of a dim street lamp, reducing everything to hues of black, deep blue and gray. I can feel the cold of outside emanating from the window, reaching and raking at my skin like callused, frozen dead fingers.

I shiver and grab a glass from the cabinet, wishing as I turn the faucet that I hadn't read that horror novel through the course of the week. Images of monsters and murderers fill my head as I stare out at the blackened back yard. For a moment I freeze, thinking I've seen something move, only to scold myself and my vivid imagination for setting me up. Something creeks down the hallway, causing me to whip around, eyes searching in the dark vainly. I set the half-empty glass down and proceed, on my tip-toes, through the living room, until the hallway comes into my view, empty yet taunting.

"Toby?" I call.

Nothing.

I stand still, again scouting out the narrow walk-way. "Hello?"

Maybe it's just the wind, but I swear I can hear breathing...low shallow breaths, nervous breaths like when you're trying to calm down after a fright.

"Hello?"

The polished wood floors feel like ice on the bottoms of my bare toes and soles, reflecting the few beads of sweat traveling down my brow. The white curtains at the end of the hallway rustle, sending a draft to my skin like a wave of water. Had I left the window open?

"Is anyone there?"

The breaths stop despite the wind still pouring in when I reach the area between mine and Toby's rooms, and slowly, this odd...animal instinct creeps into my body. Toby. I have to protect Toby, my son...my young.

"Whoever the fuck you are, stop fooling around." I seethe.

Nothing but the wind answers my bluff.

I wrap my slender fingers around the brass door knob of Toby's door, and push it open slowly, first allowing only enough room for one eye to peek in, then my head, then my body. Toby's room is absolutely quiet, save for the heavy breathing emanating from his mouth. Not a thing moves, save for the steady rise and fall of his little chest. It sounds a bit paranoid, a bit crazy, and perhaps it is, but I check his closet, beneath his bed, and all the corners for any sign of intruder. Nothing.

I grab the cricket bat that Ben keeps in the closet before making my way to my own room. "Anyone here?" I hiss, raising the bat as though a leather-bound ball is going to come flying at me. I check the closet, beneath the bed, all the dark corners, and even behind the shower curtain in my bathroom. Nothing. I lower the bat and prop it beside the bed, thoroughly convinced that I'm going mad, when something cold and hard presses against the back of my neck. My body stiffens, my throat contracts, my pulse beats against my ears like a war drum.

"Don' move." The voice is low, a rough accent ruining the deep baritone of it. "I wan' yoor haaaands where I can see thum."

I raise the shaking extremities slowly, placing them on the back of my damp head. "Who are you?" I try to sound defiant, but my voice comes out weak. I know I've been through a lot, that I shouldn't be scared, but men, big men particularly, loaded down with weapons and my son nowhere in my sight..."I don't have money, anything of any value-"

The man behind me chuckles, and from somewhere in the room, a deeper chuckle resonates.

"Money? Valuables? Do you really think we're average burglars?" This voice is also deep, the accent smooth and refined. A well-educated, wealthy Englishman, perhaps?

"Just a wild stab in the dark." I say calmly. "Though you didn't wait until I was asleep, so I guess not. Then your accent...it's too nice for any _common _burglar. You're from the London area, yeah? One of the nicer areas of the city. And your partner...a fairly rough Scottish accent."

I can practically hear the man smirk as he steps closer to me. "Smart girl." He coos. "Precisely correct in your...assumptions. Now, as for who we are and why we're here...that is none of your concern."

"It is if you're a threat to my family." I say impatiently.

"No offense, Miss Jones, but you're not really in a position to say so." The footsteps come closer until they're right in front of me. The man towers over me by at least two heads, and of course, a ski-mask covers his face, a pair of night-vision goggles covering his eyes. He reaches out with a leather gloved hand, catching my chin between his thumb and forefinger, examining my face like an animal at an auction.

I jerk my head to the right and try to bite the fingers before me, only for them to pull just out of my reach. "What do you want?" My tone is angry by now, steam practically flowing over my lips like a dragon.

"I wouldn't do that," The intruder taunts, "You've already displayed that you have brains, I suggest that you use them to the best of your advantage."

"Then tell me what the fuck you want!" I hiss.

Again, he just smirks. "I told you, that's none of your concern. Besides, it's not the boy we want anyway, so you can stop acting like a bitch that's over-protective of her pups." His chin tilts up, indicating that his line of sight is somewhere else. "Keep her here."

My captor clamps a gloved hand over my mouth, dragging me effortlessly across the room before flinging me down onto the bed. "Don' move. I 'ave direccct orders to shoot if you cause a fuss." He sits down, quite near to me on the mattress, and takes the glove off his left hand. I watch nervously as his eyes rove my body, particularly any area covered by my tight tank-top. His lip twitches, and, still keeping the gun trained on my body, reaches out with the ungloved hand. His fingertips are rough against my face, leaving a trail of nervous goose-bumps along my jaw, down my throat...my right collar bone...the upper reaches of my chest.

I swat his hand away with a sneer, reading the shock in his eyes once he removes his goggles. _Brown eyes_, I note, locking it away for a description later on. "I've been raped one too many times to be afraid of you, mister." I say in a clipped tone. "The next time you touch me, I'll make your voice several octaves higher than your normal pitch...and maybe I'll make it permanent just for fun."

The rough hand slaps my face, then grabs my throat, cutting off my air as it slams my head against the headboard. "An' I'll kill youa if youa threat'n me again, _miss._" The hand unclamps from my throat, resuming its trail down my skin, cupping my right breast, then the left, before trailing down my belly, under my shirt, then teasingly back up at the last possible moment.

The goon does this several times, the last time the tips of his fingers sneaking beneath the band of my pj bottoms, when four gun shots ring out through the house. He jumps to his feet, I bolt erect to a sitting position. Footsteps can be heard running, staggering toward the room, until the looming figure of the apparent leader hobbles in the doorway.

"Come on!" He hisses. He cradles his left arm against his body, while a hand clamps over the left side of his hips. A dripping sound can be heard. "Don't stand there, get through the window!"

The goon does so after the leader disappears; I can hear the Scotsman clambering out, most likely falling to the grass below, before Ben runs past, frantic, possibly darting through the window himself. He comes back after a moment, a smoking pistol death-gripped in his left hand. "Are you...all right?" He pants.


	11. All Awfully Close

**I do not own Midsomer Murders, just the characters I made up. **

* * *

Of all the places I expect to see police tape, my house isn't one of them. Yet, here it is, glaring at me in its bright blue and white. Uniform officers swarm the place, like ants from a kicked antpile. Among the officers is Gale Stephens, who offers both my wife and I cups of coffee.

"Gale." I murmur, nodding my thanks.

Jess just sits, staring at a fixed point across the street, seeming quite oblivious to everything around her due to shock.

Gale nods back, then smiles at my wife. "Can I get you anything else, Jess?" She lays a hand on her shoulder, kneeling down to her level. "Do you want a bite to eat, perhaps? I have breakfast bars in my patrol car."

Jess just shakes her head numbly, her eyes never leaving the fixed point despite the obstructino of Gale's body.

"Thank you, Gale." I say quietly. "I think she just needs some time...it was all a bit too close. Could you tell me when the DCI gets here? I'll try to bring her out of it before then." I offer her a faint smile, but we both know it's fake.

"Yes, sir." She pats my shoulder with an assuring nod, and leaves us alone.

With Gale's body out of the way, I can see what my wife stares so fixedly at: Blake, sitting on the sidewalk across the street, away from all the people, cradling her son like a babe on her lap, wrapped protectively against the cold in her arms and a heavy black winter coat. Apparently, Toby slept through the entire ordeal last night, and still has yet to wake. After all, 6:30 in the morning is a bit early for a five year old.

Blake, like my wife, is oblivious to everything going on. She focuses solely on her son, stroking his face and hair, kissing his forehead. More than anything I think she's happy he didn't see anything, didn't see the guns, the blood spattered throughout the house, the beehive my house has become. He's just lost in a world of bliss, completely safe from the stress of adult issues, as he should be.

I turn my attention back to my wife after a moment, noting that now she's drawn her limbs up from the cold. Setting my untouched coffee aside, I remove my jacket, draping it around her. "Hey," I say softly, shaking her shoulders, "Hey, look at me." I pull her face around with the tips of my fingers, cupping her chin as I look into her haunted eyes. "Hey, you're going to be all right. We're fine, we'll get to the bottom of this."

Nothing, she just stares at me.

I smile at her, making it as authentic as possible as I cup her face. "Can you at least say something to me? Nod? Smile? Barnaby's going to be here any minute; you know he's going to want to ask questions."

Her eyes shift back and forth between my eyes, studying each one individually due to our closeness. "Do I have to do that today?" Her voice shakes, wavering like the ripples in a pool after throwing a pebble in the middle of it.

I sigh, repeating her eye actions while stroking her cheeks with my thumbw. "Every little bit of information helps, you know that."

My wife's eyes glass o er, red veins sneeking out from the corners of her eyelids, consuming the whites like red dye in a glass of milk. "It was all so fast..."

Another sigh passes over my lips as I pull her into arms. Normally I only offer a witness a box of tissues, maybe a squeeze to the shoulder if I'm really feeling it for them, then press for information in the sneeky-copper sort of way. Make them feel like you're their friend, sweet talk them with a harming tone, then gouge for information when they're the most vulnerable. But, how do you do that when it's someone you _really _do care about? How do you allow someone else to do that to someone you love?

Movement to my left catches the corner of my eye' a tall navy-blue figure and a reasonably shorter navy-blue and khaki figure come toward us quickly. By the time I look up, they're right in front of us, knelt down and looking on sympathetically with two pairs of green eyes. Mike tilts his officer's hat back to look me in the face, while Cora lays a hand on my wife's trembling shoulder.

"Sorry we weren't here earlier, mate. I just heard what was going on through my CB."

"Anything we can do?" Cora offers.

My wife's trembling crescendos against my side. I look at Cora pleadingly. "Could you take her from here?"

The bow in Mike's back straightens a bit, his eyes knowing. "Mate," He says quietly, "You know we can't take a witness from-"

I silence him with a stare; this particular stare is the one he's known since our early adult-hood, the shut-up-now-I'm-warning-you stare. "Please." I say again.

Mike regards me for a moment with an unblinking gaze, watching my expession, watching the face hidden in my shoulder.

Cora looks at her husband, then Jess, then her husband again. "Michael."

His eyes flick to hers.

"It _would _be good for her to get away from here for a little while. If Mr. Barnaby wants to talk to her, Ben can just tell him where she is, right?"

Mike sighs. "Okay, let's get her in your car. Gently now, gently. Here, mate, let me take her so you can get up."

My legs are wobbly from all the hours of torpidness, my feet numb from the cold. By the time Cora's helped me up and I've gained my sense of balance, Mike is already at the car, situation my wife in the passenger seat of Cora's blue Volvo.

"You all right, Ben?" A petite hand wraps around me elbow; I'm too numb to try to pull away, and besides, I would probably lose my balance. "You're shaking," Cora says gently, "And it's not from the cold."

I look down at the pavement, cold and gray, much like my mind at the moment. I feel as though I'm looking at everything through a pair of filthy glasses, but everytime I touch my face, there's nothing there, and I feel all the more irritated and sick.

"Ben? Are you hurt? Do I need to have you examined?"

Cora's voice draws me slowly out of my head, her words like a poke to the ribs, each one more persistant than the prior. A hand squeezes my shoulder; I bring my hazy gaze to Cora's concerned eyes. "It's nothing. Everything was a bit close, is all. I'll get over it."

"Are you sure you're all right? You look sick."

"Why don't we see if Blake wants to go with you and my wife? She's been awfully quiet since the police got here." The need to change the subject, to get the concern off of me is overwhelming. I feel like I'm being kicked in the gut, and it won't stop unless I walk around, and people stop asking if I'm feeling well, because I'm obviously not. I take her by the elbow, and lead her to where Blake's been sitting for most of the night, and part of the morning. "Been sleeping this whole time, has he?" I smile fakely, motioning to Toby.

Blake's eyes snap to us quickly, and she nods a few moments after. "Y-yah. Woken up once or twice from the sirens, but he's pretty much used to it...from live in London all this time." Her sentence ends as though she's out of breath...or perhaps she's just cold. Her eyes drop to our legs, not staring at them, but seemingly _through _them.

I stoop over to place a hand on her shoulder. "Blake, Cora's taking Jess to her place, to warm up and relax. I think it would be a good idea for you and Toby to go with them."

"Do you still work with Tom Barnaby, Ben?" She says quietly, her eyes never straying from our legs.

I swallow loudly. So thristy..."Yeah. You need to leave before he gets here."

"No, no," Her eyes still unmoving, "No, he'll want to talk to the both of us. Take Toby...he needs to be around other children." Suddenly her head is lifted, her eyes on Cora, begging. "Please, take the baby, I need to stay here."

Cora regards her silently, then nods. "Okay."

"He'll want cerial when he wakes up." She says absent-mindedly, watching Cora intensely as she passes Toby into her arms. "It doesn't matter what kind, he'll just want it...he feels it's the natural order of things to have cerial for breakfast."

"Okay." She smiles. "He'll be fine."

"Ben."

"?"

"Help me up, please...my feet are numb."

"Sir?" Gail is beside me when Blake finally gets her balance, nearly falling over a few times, much like myself. "The DCI is here."

I turn around quickly, sighing thankfully; Cora's car is nowhere to be seen. "Thanks, Gail, take us to him, please."

* * *

_Blake's POV_

I feel as though I've stepped out of a fog. Police officers are everywhere, along with forensics, a K-9 unit, and an ambulance team. Where did they come from? When did they get here? How _long _have they been here? Ben stops momentarily, waiting for me to catch up before placing a hand at the base of my neck, leading me to a familiar older man.

Mr. Barnaby hasn't changed too much in five years. His hair, which used to be a faded brown with gray thrown in, is now all gray, silver in some areas, but for the most part light gray. His eyes, which I specifically remember being a striking blue, are slightly lighter, but no less striking.

"Morning, sir." Ben says groggily.

"Morning, Jones." Barnaby says in a neutral tone. "Are you all right?"

"As much as I can be, in the given situation, sir."

I cock my head at this. Ben had sounded rather annoyed at being asked if he was troubled. Myself being a little before him, his hand on my neck, I can't see his face. I decide to simply file it away in my mind for another time, giving Mr. Barnaby my attention upon feeling his gaze.

"Blake." He smiles, nodding. "You've grown."

I smile bashfully, playing it out perfectly like an actress. "Thanks. It seems as though we can't ever meet under favorable circumstances, hm?"

He just nods, and lifts his eyes to to the man behind me. "Well, then?" His voice adopts the serious tone he'd first greeted Ben with, and he motions to the house with an outstretched arm and a raise of the eyebrows.

Ben's hand leaves my neck, sliding down the slope of a shoulder before disappearing entirely, his frame becoming visible in my line of sight as he walks wearily to the front door of the house.

The comforting feeling that the house has always given me is gone, dissipated, vaporized. All that feels to be left, atomospherically, is a cold, empty body, a body having all of its skin and bones, but no brain, not heart, no lungs, no muscles, no nerves...just a skelton with a few busted veins...a bleeding heart.

"What happened?"

Another veil of fog is lifted from my eyes, Barnaby's voice decaying it this time. I wish it hadn't pulled me out of my head, for there's blood spattered on the north wall, the curtains on the eastern window and ledge, and lastly, a huge puddle of blood on the floor, a jagged line of heavy drips of red trailing across the room and out the bed room door.

Ben eyeballs the bed, its sheets and pillows askew, with remorse in his gaze. "I was laying with my wife," He says quietly. His eyes dim; I can tell he's creceeded into his brain, reliving the nightmare. "She was alseep, I was awake...had been for a while, maybe an hour, unable to relax and drift off. I was just watching her sleep...and then I could hear footsteps. I thought it was Blake, at first, but they sounded too heavy, and they were booted.

_"Blake?" I call in a whisper, trying not to wake my wife._

_The footsteps stop momentarily, a very, very soft curse wafts into the room. _

_I prop myself up on an elbow, trying to reach over my wife for the nightstand. The movement, considering that I'm now lying on top of her, wakes Jess. She moans and squirms beneath me, and I clamp a hand over her mouth._

_"There's someone in the house." I whisper, fingering the handle on the top drawer, "Don't move, 'kay? When he comes in, I want you to pretend you're still asleep."_

_She shudders at feeling the cold metal of my pistol pressed against her back, hidden beneath her overly-large shirt, flicking wide eyes up at me. "Ben-"_

_"Shh." I tell her, "Just pretend you're asleep, I won't let anything happen to you, promise. Close your eyes, he's right by the door."_

_My grip on the pistol tightens as a figure, well over six feet tall, walks slowly into the room. He wears a ski mast, followed by night-vision goggles, a black shirt and pull-over, cargo pants and boots. Standing out to me most of all...the pistol in his left hand, and the holstered pistol strapped to his left hip. I peer neautrally at him over Jess's steadily quivering shoulder, pressing the gun slightly harder against her back._

_"Mr. Jones." The intruder cooes, aiming the pistol a bit higher, more at Jess's shoulder than myself, "Did I wake you? So sorry."_

_"Who are you?" I ask evenly. "What can I do for you?"_

_"For now, I just want you to lay there," He cocks the pistol, Jess gasps. "And I want you to remove your hand from under the lady's shirt."_

_I glance down at Jess; her eyes have tears in them. "I can't touch my wife before you shoot me?" I ask calmly._

_The intruder raises the pistol higher. "Remove your hand, Mr. Jones."_

_Oh, I'll remove it all right. With my left, I grab my pillow and throw it at the intruder, and with my right, I cock and draw the pistol, sending a bronze-tipped bite into the right shoulder of the man, then sheild my wife with my body. _

_The intruder, surprised at the sudden change of events, shoots blindly, sending a bullet into the headboard, another just barely over our heads and into the west wall. I fire again, hitting him in the left hip. _

_The man grunts, saying through gritted teeth, "This won't be the last you'll see of me!" Then disappears through the door._

_jess is practically hyperventallating by this time, huddled against the side of the bed on the floor, nearly choking on tears and sobs._

_I kneel down quickly and cup her wet face in my palms. "Stay here, stay here, you're going to be all right. Okay? I'll be right back, don't move."_

_I'm out the door before she can protest, nearly falling on my face upon slipping in a trail of blood. I stare with mild disappointment from the window as the intruder runs out of the range of my pistol, as though he'd never been touched by a bullet at all. _

"He could run?" Mr. Barnaby asks.

Ben nods. "He was practically sprinting, sir." He grumbles.

Barnaby "hmms", and continues looking around the room. "A man that can sprint after being shot twice..."

"No," I say quietly, "No, there were two of them."

The two men stop whatever action or sentence they were in the middle of immediately, the gears in their brains reeling. Ben looks at me with fright, as though I were bleeding to death, and Barnaby simply looks very interested.

"What happened? Are you all right?" Ben asks.

"Two of them, you say?" Barnaby says at the same time as Ben.

"Yeah, two of them." I murmur. My skin crawls like the man's fingers are on my body again, caressing, rubbing, teasing...I shiver. "The one that Ben interacted with was the leader. I didn't get a name, but he said he was from one of the upper class areas of London. The one I reacted with," I shiver again, "He was Scottish. I don't know from which area of Scottland he was from, but his accent was very thick...almost violent; it took a bit of concentration to understand him. The leader told him to keep me in my room, gave him orders to shoot me if I caused a fuss."

"They told you where they were from?" Barnaby asks.

"What did he do?" Ben asks at the same time; that protective-father look creeps into his eyes.

"Nothing that hasn't been done before." I say softly, crossing my arms over my chest. "And no," I say when Ben's mouth begins to open, "He didn't rape me...just...touched me, is all."

"Where and how?" Ooh, a slice of anger in his tone.

"W-...We can discuss that later, Ben. I think Mr. Barnaby wants to question right now." I send a weak smile in Barnaby's direction. "I sort of...guessed at it, honestly. The leader's accent was very smooth, very refined, like someone very educated. I asked him if he was from one of the classier areas of London, and he said yes. As for his partner, the Scottish accent spoke for itself."

"Ah, I see." Barnaby appears impressed, quirking his brows as he cocks his head to the side. "Would you mind showing me your room?"

Another weak smile. "Everyone else has been in there, I don't see why I would."

There's a man crouched down on the floor in my room, an older man with white hair that Ben and Barnaby greet by the name George. Well...Barnaby referrs to him as George, and Ben referrs to him as "Mr. Bullard". Said man greets the two with their Christian names, then holds an evidence bag up to Tom.

"It appears your intruders were quite careless, Ben." Bullard says. "Blood on the floor, muddy footprints, and now an article of clothing. We shouldn't have too much trouble identifying one of them, with all the DNA around the house."

"That's the glove the Scottsman was wearing." I say, gesturing to it, "He took it off, before..." I shake my head.

Barnaby nods; nothing else needs to be spoken. "What did he say to you, the Scottsman?"

I shake my head again. "Nothing of importance, really. He told me not to move when he had me at gunpoint from behind, he told me to put my hands up where he could see them, he told me not to cause a fuss or he would shoot. That's about it, really. I'm not certain," I say slowly, testing my words, "But...something seemed off about him. Other than being big and agressive...I don't know. He seemed to have a mental problem, like John Steinbeck's "Lennie Small" from "Of Mice and Men": A big man that doesn't know his own strength, a child stuck in a man's body that has little controll over his temper or strength." Then, as a remembered fact, "Oh, and he had brown eyes."

Barnaby just nods approvingly, looking about the room. "Ah," His tone is in a reasonably higher pitch, like he's relaxed and in a happier mood. "Been playing cricket recently?" He motions to the bat beside my bed.

Ben looks at it as well, cocks his head. "Hey...isn't that my cricket bat? What's it doing in here?"

"Oh, I was gonna use it to beat someone's brains out because I thought my son was in danger. All plans and thoughts of doing this were immediately relieved when I realized they had guns." I cross my arms over my shaky torso as Ben stares at me in bewilderment, Barnaby simply nodding. "I thought my baby was in danger." I tell Ben, "You shot someone to protect Jess, I was going to smash the bastard's skull in for my son...I don't see much difference in our actions." I release a shaky breath; Barnaby walks across the hall to Toby's room.

I don't allow the silence to linger long, not wishing to put myself, or Ben into an annoyingly awkward situation. "Sorry," I say quietly, "I know you're not feeling well."At the expected furrowed brows, "Yeah, I noticed. Your skin is very pale, you know. You're here, physically, but you're not _here_ with me. You've shot someone, and you're trying to convince yourself that it was completely necessary. You feel horrible about it, even despite the fact that he tried to harm you, or tired to harm the one thing most precious to you in existence."

I lower my eyes, swallow. My head is throbbing with memories...the smells, the blood...the body left to rot for three days while I was quietly fighting for my life in the hospital. I push them aside for the greater pain standing in front of me. "I've been there, Ben." I say quietly, "You know I have. You just...have to accept it and push on, or it'll screw with your head." I give him a watery smile, nod. "Don't worry about it...at least, not now."

Ben looks like a lost little boy looking for his parents, his eyes rounded and watery, his emotions on display for everything to see. He stands ridgid, not needing to say anything at all, his eyes telling me everything I need to know.

"It was all awfully close, wasn't it?" I whisper. He nods, leaving me to need no excuse to walk forward tiredly and hug him forcefully, willing him, if possible, to collapse my ribcage on itself. "Trust me, Ben, that man deserved every bit of torment you gave him."

**I apologize for any typos I may have missed, the spellchecker wasn't working. I'll have chapter 12 out ASAP. Thank you for your patience. :)**


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